The Warrior's Hope

"Get down now!"

The ground shook as meteors hit from above, great balls of fire bringing destruction in their wake. All along the plains of Terradon, the warrior's huddled in small holes for cover, cradling their swords and shields for what little comfort they could grasp.

"Be ready men, on my word, we push!" The voice rang out clear across the battlefield from one of these holes, and all who heard it felt their courage grow. It was their leader and saviour, Lord Braide, a man who stared death in the face and came back to tell about it.

The vibrations from the meteors were starting to recede, but it wouldn't be long before it started all over again. The men had limited time to make some ground, before digging in for safety once more. This was their task, a task given to them almost two years gone.

The lord stood from his hole, brandishing his longsword out in the distance. Only a dozen metres away, the army of the past, as it had come to be known, loomed over them. Like a plague waiting to catch and spread, ten-thousand skeletons marched on them, one of many waves in what seemed to be a never-ending renewal of death.

For some, these death defying foes were nothing short of terrifying, their eyeless sockets and limp limbs enough to drive the toughest to flee. For most however, they were the remains of their loved ones, friends they once fought with and buried with grief.

For those men, this was torment on another level, one which renewed old sorrows and tested resolve. The steeled voice of one man alone cried once more, the only thing which kept the warriors from fleeing the battlefield.

"Have you gone soft, men? Have you lost your nerve?" Braide yelled out, and a great cry of 'No!' responded. "Have you decided to accept this accursed plague we once called our ancestors, and allow it to walk in your place?" Once more, the warriors screamed their answer, 'No!'

"Then rise with me, rise, and show those that came before us. We are not soft! We will hold our nerve! Onward!" Like a swarm of their own, the warriors burst from cover, rushing to form a line alongside their lord. Once all were in line, they began the steady march, shields locked into place, brother to brother, side by side.

The lord continued to shout to his men, almost two-thousand strong, pushing them on as the army loomed ever closer, until they finally met with a clash of sword and bone. The dead clawed at those still living, trying to pry the flesh from them, while the living broke bone with steel, and pushed them back with their shields as one.

"Hold the line!" One warrior roared in panic, as the man next to him stumbled on the bones of the dead below him. In an instant, he dropped his shield as he tried to pull himself back up, and the dead nearby took advantage of the moment. They scrambled onto the man, until he disappeared from view, only screams as evidence of his existence.

Lord Braide spotted the commotion, stepping back from the line. One shield brother quickly filled in the gap he left, locking his shield with those to either side of him, and the lord felt a flash of pride for his men, before dashing toward the leak in their defence.

"Break off now!" His command cut through the panicked cries of the men, and like trained marionettes, they folded back from the front line, like a double door opening away from the swarming mass of undead. With the gap now much wider, they seemed to recognise their advantage as more and more diverted toward the lord.

"Messengers of the Divine, I beseech thee." Lord Braide closed his eyes, holding one hand to the heavens, and the other toward the enemy as they poured through the gap. "Hear my plea, bring upon mine enemies thine sanctity of eternal rest."

Power began to build, the ground around the lord glistening with the blue glow of raw mana. It quickly became focused as it was purposed for a specific task. The undead continued to move toward him, while his men held them on the path with their shields, creating a corridor of sorts.

The light from the mana grew even brighter, until it was almost blinding to the warriors. The undead were almost upon the lord, when he finally opened his eyes. They glowed bright with mana, and he finished the last piece of his chant.

"Phoenix Breath!"

Blue flame erupted from his hand, shooting forward through the gap in the line, consuming all undead in its path. The bodies disintegrated before they could hit the ground, and more undead stepped into the path, meeting the same fate as those before.

Only moments later, the flame died down, and the warriors quickly reclosed the gap, locking shields once more. Lord Braide dropped to one knee, taking deep breaths as he tried to centre himself.

"My lord?" One man reached out to him, fear etched into his face, and yet ready to help at a moments notice. Braide waved him off.

"Just catching my breath, no need to worry." He stood up, lifting his sword as he assessed the enemy. The shield wall held firmly now, and the men were able to push forward a little more each moment.

He then looked more closely at the man beside him. Past the stains of dirt across his face, he quickly realised this man was barely more than a boy. "What's your name, warrior?"

"Jakob, sir." Sword shaking and legs barely able to hold him up, the young man was in a state of shock. Though it hurt to see, this was nothing new to Braide. He placed a hand on the warrior's shoulder.

"Well, Jakob, I'm proud to stand with you in this fight, and I feel secure in the knowledge that you will have my back as we push on."

"Always sir!" Like a dying fire that gets the taste of more timber, the light in Jakob's eyes grew brighter, his stance resolute. He saluted sharply, and his sword held more firmly in his grip.

A great booming resounded from far away, and the lord quickly turned to the sight of chaos. The meteors had come once more, only much sooner than anticipated. The line was broken, and the bodies of his warriors scattered across the ground like the leaves from a tree in autumn.

Scores of undead surged through the gaps, dragging men down to their end, and Braide was too far away to get there in time. There would be no shoring up their defences now. He knew it was over.

A whimper drew him back from the onslaught, and he looked to Jakob once more. The boy trembled, and yet he did not run. Tears ran freely from his eyes, but he stood firm, ready to face the end at his lords back.

"Would you fight until the end?"

With a deep breath, Jakob nodded, holding his sword at the ready. "I will have your back as we push on, my lord. I swear."

With one last look at their broken line, the lord knew it was done for, and so he made his final choice, one which he was holding back as a last resort.

Reaching into his armour, Lord Braide pulled free a pendant. It was attached to a piece of string around his neck, which he snapped off, holding it out to Jakob.

"I need you to take this, and listen carefully." He guided Jakob further away from the line before stopping. Grabbing him by the head to pull him close, he tied the string around Jakob's neck as he spoke.

"I once loved a woman, she went by Lorrianna, but I called her Lo. She died by the hand of her betrothed, over the love she had for me. Only I know this, and to all others, she was simply sick and frail."

Jakob leaned back in confusion. "Why are you telling me this?"

Braide shook his head in frustration. "It doesn't matter how bizarre it sounds, repeat it back to me, memorize it!"

Despite not understanding, Jakob did as he was told, repeating it back several times until the lord was satisfied. In the background, the cries for aid grew louder as more and more succumbed to the undead from further down the line.

"Now." Braide took a step back, raising both of his hands toward Jakob. "For what I'm about to do, I'm deeply sorry. You shouldn't have to shoulder this responsibility, and I would do this myself if I could."

"Do what, sir? Please, what's going on?!" The panic in Jakob's voice grew as Lord Braide's body began to glow once more. This time, the blue light of mana formed shapes along the ground, circling around the young man, becoming more and more solid each second.

"The pendant I gave you, don't lose it. It cannot be used twice, but if you fail, it must be passed on. Remember what I told you, and find me when you can!" Lord Braide could barely be heard over the growing screams as the line began to falter completely, and the undead moved ever closer to them.

Searing light seemed to explode upward from underneath Jakob, and voices he couldn't understand flew in and out of hearing. Some whispered in deep, guttural tones, while others were soothing, almost caring sounds. The light seemed to burn through him, causing searing pain, and yet part of him felt numb to it, almost warm and comforted. Then the light became too much, and he knew no more.

*********************

"No!" Jakob shot up, hands reached out in front of his face as he screamed against the blinding light, before noticing that it was no longer there. And neither was he.

He took in his surroundings. The barn he was in, with one door missing, and the other door barely a winds blow from falling off the hinges. The bed he lay on, made of straw, covered by a thin, scratchy blanket. The bucket a few steps from him, filled halfway with water, while the dripping of the roof leak continued to add more.

He had placed the bucket there himself, and he would soon repair the barn doors, just as his mother had asked him to. Just as soon as he finished with the nap he was peacefully enjoying. He knew this scene well. It was from nearly a decade ago, before everything had gone to ruin.

Jumping from the straw bed, he turned around in horror, searching for some explanation, but there was no doubt in his mind. This was his home. Thanks to the never-ending war, it was a place he had started to imagine never existed, but he couldn't deny the truth he faced.

Sounds came to him, the barks of a dog, then a child's laughter. He pulled himself together, stepping out of the barn to face whatever he found. Though he already knew what to expect, the sight of his little brother and their family dog running to him winded him all the same.

Years of buried trauma rushed to the surface and Jakob crashed to his knees, memories flashing across his mind. His brother, buried under a pile of rubble as their home was crushed under the meteor strikes. His mother, dragging him away from the scene as he screamed to be let go, only for her to be cut down by the undead.

"Jakey, what's wrong?" Little Tally ran up to his big brother with a look of concern. "Are you not well?" He turned toward their house, a small yet cosy cottage, and called out. "Mama, Jakey looks poorly."

Steeling himself, Jakob pushed off the ground. "I'm fine. Go on inside, I'll be along shortly."

Tally frowned, but soon shrugged. "If you say so." He turned toward their home and walked away, calling out over his shoulder. "Don't be too long, or I'll die of boredom!"

Jakob barely held back a sob. Somehow, he had his life once again. He could almost imagine it was all a dream, that the war never happened and it never would. But too much damage had been done for a dream to create. He knew better.

Feeling something scratching at his neck, he reach into his tunic, pulling out the final proof he needed. The pendant was simple, a small, red jewel, with what looked to be silver running across the back and around the edges.

"Lord Braide. Somehow, you sent me back, and there can only be one reason why." Jakob closed his fist around the pendant, bringing it to touch his forehead as he made his solemn vow. "I swear to you, I will get it right this time. With this gift you've given me, I will change everything."

He turned to the house and made his way inside, preparing for the long journey he would take, and the hardships he was going to face.