2 | 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 ▹ LOKI LAUFEYSON

xxviii. the gates

Emelía dropped down unceremoniously beside her. "I really think that we should go back to the tent," she whispered harshly.

"If a soldier is wounded severely, he'll die before he even reaches the tent." Amora had strongly voiced her distaste with how far back the healing tent was placed behind the frontline. What was the point of them being there if they were unable to save anyone?

"And besides," Amora turned to her friend with a smirk and gave a slight wave of her hand, "no one can see us."

Emelía frowned before glancing down and gasping. She held up her transparent hand in front of her gawking face; then her face scrunched up in question.

"This invisibility spell doesn't seem very effective."

Amora rolled her eyes but still gave a chuckle. "This is only how we can see ourselves. To any other eye, we are perfectly invisible."

Emelía lowered her hand and turned her gaze to the battle despite appearing unconvinced. The sound of swords and shields clashing echoed through the field in front of them. Amora frowned as she watched a young soldier swing his large sword at a combatant twice his size. When did the army start enlisting such young men?

She jumped to her feet when the towering mercenary knocked the boy to the ground. The soldier tried to scramble away, his eyes wide as he looked up at the raised sword above his head.

"Aron!" a voice cried before Amora could move. An older soldier charged forward and slashed at the marauder.

The tall being gave a great cry at the new gash on his arm before swinging his sword toward the man. Amora immediately jumped up and raced forward, ignoring Emelía's protests. Reaching the young soldier's—Aron's—side, she grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up to his feet.

"Move!" she shouted, pushing him.

"No! I can fight!" He jerked away from her grasp and ran back to the other soldier's aid.

The older man was still standing but just barely. His feet dragged as he moved and his sword was no longer held high. Many slashed from the tip of the sword marked his arms and legs.

Just as the man fell to his knees, succumbing to exhaustion, the mercenary swung his sword and Aron reached his fallen companion's side. Amora threw out a hand, shooting out a bolt of magic, but she was too late.

The assailant was knocked several feet back, but he had already made his deadly blow. Aron stared with wide eyes, his breath coming out a choked gasps. His gaze slowly traveled down to the heavily bleeding wound in his chest.

He only managed to turn his head to look at the unconscious soldier by his side before collapsing to the ground.

"Emelía," Amora called out as she rushed to the boy's side.

"I got him," Emelía answered, going to the older soldier.

When she turned Aron over onto his back, Amora felt a sharp pang in her chest. He was stiff, clutching at his chest. His wide eyes darted to her face but came in and out of focus.

He opened his mouth, but only a wheeze and some blood came out. Amora shushed him gently, taking his hands in hers. "It's okay," she said softly, "It's okay. I'm here. You're not alone."

As she spoke, the panic in his eyes faded, and she felt somewhat relieved at having calmed him...but then even the calm faded to nothing.

A tear slipped down Amora's cheek. She had failed. She had specifically come here to save lives and she failed.

With a shaky hand, she closed the boy's sightless eyes and clasped his hands tighter. Lowering her head and closing her eyes, she recited the prayer that she had been taught as a child alongside Thor and Loki