Echoes of Ossian
Two month passed as we fought side by side countless times. We shared dawn conversations, or simply basked in comforting silence, gazing at the stars until we drifted to sleep. When I woke up, it was a different kind of shock, as the nightmares that had plagued me previously were absent. It felt as though I had finally found where I belonged.
Despite successfully repelling the invasion, we faced sporadic isolated attacks that, while less intense, remained deadly, a grim reminder that we were still at war.
"We may have won, but the war isn't over," he said grimly.
The war intensified, and we fought ferociously. Many soldiers fell, but we held our ground. We were on the main front.
The war raged across the land, its flames consuming cities and fields alike. Battle drums thundered, their echoes rolling over the hills like an omen of death, while banners bearing the insignias of rival warlords snapped in the wind. We fought with unyielding resolve, our blades clashing against enemy spears, the cries of the fallen mixing with the roar of warhorses. Arrows darkened the sky, striking down warriors on both sides, yet we held our formation, refusing to yield an inch of ground.
The enemy came in relentless waves, their armor gleaming under the bloodstained sun. Our generals, clad in ornate armor, commanded from the rear, their war fans signaling maneuvers that turned the tide of battle. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, steel, and the iron tang of spilled blood. Many of our comrades fell, their bodies joining the countless others that lay across the battlefield, but we did not falter.
We were stationed at the heart of the conflict, on the main front where warlords vied for supremacy, where every battle decided the fate of dynasties. There was no retreat, no surrender—only the ceaseless struggle for honor, survival, and the dream of ending this war.
I searched the battlefield frantically, my eyes darting through the chaos. He was supposed to stay behind me—right behind me. But he was gone. Why? Where had he gone? My breathing grew ragged, my pulse hammering so violently I thought my heart might tear itself apart.
This couldn't be happening. Not to him. Not to him.
The battlefield was a storm of blood and steel, bodies clashing and falling like leaves in an unending tempest. Warriors screamed, the air thick with the metallic scent of death, but all I could think about was finding him. My hands trembled as I gripped my weapon tighter, my vision blurring as panic took hold. I pushed through the chaos, ignoring the burning in my legs, the pain in my chest—nothing mattered except finding him.
But he was nowhere to be seen.
A cold dread settled in my bones. My mind refused to accept it, but deep inside, fear coiled around my gut like a viper. If he was gone—if I had lost him—I didn't know what I would do.
A flicker of red amid the carnage caught my eye, and for a heartbeat, hope surged through me. It was him—his crimson cloak, unmistakable even through the haze of dust and blood. But something was wrong. He stood eerily still, his gaze locked with an enemy warrior—a man whose face bore not hatred, but sorrow.
Dread gripped me as I moved closer, my breath hitching. And then I saw it.
The blade, dark with blood, pierced straight through his chest. His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came—only a choked gasp. Time seemed to slow as his knees buckled, his body crumpling beneath the lifeless weight of a fallen soldier.
"No—no, no, no!"
I lunged forward, shoving aside corpses, my hands shaking as I reached him. His once-bright eyes, so full of warmth and laughter, were now void of light, staring past me at nothing. I called his name, over and over, but he did not answer.
A ragged cry tore from my throat, raw and broken, lost in the chaos of war. The world around me blurred, the battle fading into meaningless noise. Nothing else mattered.
I had lost him.
An anguished scream tore from my soul.
The soldier who had struck him down remained frozen before me, his grip on his weapon unsteady. His blue eyes—so full of turmoil—met mine, and for a brief moment, I saw hesitation, even regret. But it didn't matter. Nothing could undo what he had done.
Two soldiers stepped forward to shield him, their postures firm, their hands tightening around their swords. Their loyalty was absolute, an unshakable bond forged in war. A bitter pang twisted in my chest. Even in death, he was alone, while his killer stood protected. How cruel fate was—to grant them comrades willing to lay down their lives, while mine lay cold in my arms.
But I had no time for jealousy. No time for mercy.
I dropped to my knees beside his still form, my trembling hands reaching out as if to shake him awake. But the warmth was gone—his body already stiff with death. I pulled him into my arms, pressing my forehead to his, willing my own warmth into him, as if somehow, it could bring him back. But there was no heartbeat, no breath, only the unbearable weight of his absence.
My gaze locked onto the soldier with those terrified blue eyes, the weight of his guilt written across his face. I had no mercy left for him. No forgiveness. Only the raw, seething hatred that burned through my grief.
I lunged at him, my fingers grasping for his throat, desperate to drag him down with me. If nothing else, I would make him feel even a fraction of my agony. But before I could tighten my grip, a sharp, searing pain bloomed in my chest.
His loyal soldier had struck. The blade drove deep into my chest, robbing me of breath, of strength, of everything—yet I did not let go.
Somewhere beyond the ringing in my ears, I heard a voice cry out. A single, desperate name.
"…Cain!"
The soldier with the blue eyes flinched, his face contorted in something that might have been horror. Regret. Fear. I didn't care. His name meant nothing to me, but the anguish in his comrade's voice twisted like a knife in my gut. It was the same grief that had shattered me, the same unbearable pain that now consumed me whole.
The blade sank deep, stealing the breath from my lungs, and for a moment, I couldn't move. My body convulsed, my strength draining with every heartbeat. But I refused to let go. My grip tightened around him, my blood staining his armor as I clung to him with everything I had left.
If I was to fall, I would take him with me.
Through gritted teeth, I cursed him—cursed him with all that remained of my soul. The pain in my chest burned, not just from the wound, but from something deeper, something darker. The curse writhed within me, a torment bound to my very being, aching as if it had been waiting for this moment.
As my vision blurred, as the battlefield faded into a distant hum, I saw his expression twist—whether in horror, regret, or something else entirely, I could no longer tell.
But I knew this.
My death would not be the end of my vengeance.
But then, the world shifted.
A violent pull yanked me from the depths of grief, wrenching me away from his lifeless body. The battlefield blurred, the scent of blood and steel dissolving into nothingness. My breath hitched as an unseen force dragged me backward, through darkness, through oblivion—until suddenly, I was standing again, sword in hand, the clash of battle raging around me.
I gasped, my chest heaving. My limbs burned with exhaustion, yet the wounds I had suffered were gone. My armor was whole. The weight of the fight settled upon my shoulders as if I had never left it.
No. Not again.
I turned frantically, my heart hammering against my ribs. And then I saw him—alive.
There he was, standing right behind me, his red cloak billowing as he fought. His movements were fierce, precise, unknowing of the fate that awaited him. My breath hitched, my stomach twisting violently. I had seen this before. I had lived this before. And I knew what would come next.
"No—!" I lunged for him, desperation clawing at my chest. If I could reach him, if I could just stop it—
But my body was slow, weighed down by the unbearable weight of knowing.
And then, just as before, it happened.
A sword pierced his chest.
Time collapsed into itself. His body shuddered, his expression caught between shock and agony. The enemy before him—Cain—stood frozen, his blue eyes wide with something like regret.
My friend crumpled. The red of his cloak merged with the blood-soaked ground.
I fell to my knees, a scream tearing from my throat.
Again.
It had happened again.
I scrambled to his side, hands trembling as I reached for him. His warmth was already fading, his breath already leaving him. My vision blurred with tears, my fingers curling into his cloak as though holding onto him would somehow keep him here.
But I knew better now.
Because no matter how tightly I held him, how much I screamed or fought or bled, it would never be enough.
The world would take him from me.
And then it would bring me back.
Each time I returned, the nightmare began anew. The battlefield stretched before me, unchanged, relentless. The scent of blood and ash clung to the air, and the cries of the dying became nothing more than a distant hum. My mind was in a haze, fractured by the weight of loss.
I had to return alone. And I was terrified.
Terrified that this time, something had gone wrong. That I couldn't return to him. That I was too late to stand by his side.
My fingers curled around the hilt of my sword, pressing it against my chest as if grounding myself in something real. The enemy soldiers before me hesitated, their faces twisted in disbelief, shouting words I couldn't hear. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. The world blurred, the battlefield melting into nothingness, and I realized—I was still trapped in this nightmare.
I needed to see him.
But no matter how many times I fought, how many times I tried to reach him, I lost him. Over and over again.
Why?
Why did he insist on standing in front of me, shielding me? Why did he always throw his life away—for Cain? Every single time, he tried to protect the very man who would kill him.
I clenched my jaw, my hands shaking. I had to keep trying. I would keep trying.
But the days stretched on, cruel and unyielding. One by one, the faces around me disappeared. My fellow soldiers perished, their deaths blending together, their voices fading into ghosts. I tried to hold onto them, tried to force myself to care, but the fear of losing them swallowed me whole.
So I distanced myself.
I tried to socialize. I tried to pretend. But what was the point? Every conversation ended in silence, every fleeting moment of connection was torn away by the cycle of death. My smile faded. Eventually, I didn't even have to fake it anymore.
And him—I met him again and again, watched him die each time. No matter what I did, how I fought, I couldn't save him. I couldn't change his fate.
But I refused to give up.
I would save him. No matter the cost.
Because I didn't want to live forever in this hell, trapped in endless pain. I had already lost my brother. I couldn't save him. But this—this was different.
I could save him. And I would.
Even if it destroyed me. Even if I had to break the very fabric of fate itself.
I had no one to tell. No one would understand. I wasn't even sure I understood.
But none of that mattered.
All that mattered was saving him.