Chapter 1: (Part 3) Rise of the Fallen

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It was quiet, the wind blew in the distance. The cavalry waited below the hillside as a shadow to the moonlight. The entire field was wet, and the air was humid. Each commander led small groups of archers to different areas while crouching. A commander gave a signal to his group, those in the watchtower were immediately shot down.

The arrows flew almost completely silent.... The victims fell, but not a single eye within the hold noticed.

Three men held a torch, each lighting an arrow. Those arrows were shot, each hitting the roof of a building: the scream of a horn was called. Like a roar of a dragon it shook the men laying in beds inside the fortress, quick to wake to it. They could hear the voices of soldiers outside; incoherent, yet loud and terrifying to them. They grabbed their nearest weapons and headed out the main gate. The clanging of metal as the gate opened set them to their road to battle. The archers were set in a curved shape that faced directly towards the main gate from the outside. The arrows were pulled back.

"Fire!" Zoran ordered.

One after the other, the full moon grew dark as the screams of arrows fell upon them like rain!

As the enemy rushed out the gate, with arrow after arrow lodged into them, one dead after the other, until only a few stood; arrows crowded on their shields and armor.

A second horn was called, an echo in the silence of night past the screaming arrows and dying men.

"To arms!" Theodren shouted, Armand Malrick with the same words, sending their cavalry army down the slope to the disarrayed men below them. The footsteps quickly grew in volume, a gallop rushing down the hill like a flood of raging waters.

The fortress became a blaze of hellfire, and many more began to panic like deer in a hunt, running out the gate as their foe was quick to meet them.

Arrow after arrow set their mark into the gaps in their armor. Like cattle arriving to the slaughter, one after the other came blood rushing down the hillside. Others stumbled, trampled by a stampede of stallions and the spears of their riders. It was over.

The fires...calmed.... The winds of the smoke...calmed.... Ashes among blood, limbs over the bodies of different people. Their skin...burned.... All that remained was the flag the rebellion brought to the world. The power of something so profound was vacant. Those memories were forgotten. In a way, it's as if I feel sorrow for them, and that the whole world sobs at their dying breath than to cheer it finally coming to an can say that it's all over, but what about those that died? What's it to them?....The dead shall remain consumed in dust and mud, a fate for all who dwell in this terrible world....

"Still writing that little journal?" Theodren smiled as he tore the leg meat of a pheasant.

Zoran was silent, focused on what he already wrote.

"Hey, listen. I'm not going to steal it again, I know how much it means to you." He tossed the cleaned bone towards the ash piles surrounding them. Almost hard to see him in all honesty, for the sky was faded in falling ashes and smoke; even the walls of the wooden fort was nothing but a white abyss, but Zoran still remained silent.

"Thinking about mother, huh?" He sat back to back to him as they rested on a pile of stone rubble.

"Can't​ you just shut up for once?" Zoran stood up and punched Theodren's backside. Moving him...well...nowhere really. It was like punching a rock, yet Zoran tried hiding his pain.

"This whole scene we're in, at the end of every battle it's like this, like what happened that day." Zoran rubbed his tears along with the ashes on his face. Voices of other soldiers were around them, dragging the remains of the dead and all the things they kept to them to be set to blaze in a bonfire near them, cracking wood and smoke with the ash of bodies flowing in the air.

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