The flames devour the fields, boiling the stew of clouds and debris. I can feel the burn on my legs and in my bleeding heart. A blade of glory and one of failure; I cry in pain.

"You're killing me.” a shaken voice utters, the words shattered.

"You stabbed me first." My voice, burnt by the fire, turns to ash.

We fall to our knees in unison. The flames huddle around us, consuming everything but us. "Don't die on me, Soldier." I find myself saying through saliva and blood. Though our friendship was broken, trust never was. "Pull the sword out."

His hands are fused together with the hilt. "If I do that, you die."

I let go of the sword sticking out of his hip and set my hands on the blade of his sword. "Kill me, soldier." His face darkens with disbelief. "I trust that you will do the right thing. You will live."

The flames have now left only a small circle around us, barely enough space to breathe in. I let out another painful cry. "Pull the sword out!"

And he does. I can feel the gaping hole where my heart was, now connected to the sword. I fall flat on my back, and my face is eaten by the fire. I die within milliseconds, but it feels like hours.