"After the fight" by Julia Anna Rill

After the fight

Finally the battle was over. The armies of the Chaoslord had been beaten. The united forces of the free world were victorious.

Kalen sheathed his loyal sword. His work was done. Together with his brothers in arms he had achieved what no one ever thought possible to manage. But here they stood, the last remnants of a world once so peaceful and bright. But those days were gone. Nothing was left of the country they loved. Kalen lifted his head and searched for men he knew. The few fighters he saw were all unknown to him. They stood among thousands of dead. No sound came from the battlefield. No cry for victory, not even a scream of pain. The legions of chaos killed, not wounded. And under all these dead. Kalen would find his brothers, his father, his friends and maybe even some of his sisters.

Every single person knowing how to use a weapon had answered the call to war. They all had come here to the ever green fields of Peresa to defend what they lived for. Now the fields were vast, the earth soaked with blood. No grass was left, only mud. And death.

Kalen turned around. He would not go back home to his little village and his farm. There was no home anymore. Everything had been destroyed. There was no place in this country that didn’t look like these fields. Everything was gone. Everything his heart had been beating for. And everyone. Clearly he could see the pictures in his mind how his oldest son had been falling with a black spear in his back. He had been fighting next to Kalen. And Kalen, the old warrior, had again not been able to protect the ones he loved.

But he was not the only one. Every single man still breathing looked at the ruin of their dreams. They had buried their families, now they would simply leave their friends to rot under the sun. There were way too many bodies to take care for. And it did not matter to them. They had lost too much to bother about dead flesh.

No feelings were left in Kalen when he saw into the wide opened eyes of his murdered son. He had not expected to survive himself. Against all odds he did. He had been supposed to die, the old ones, not the young ones. His son’s youth was now wasted. And he, who already had had a life, would live on.

Well, maybe for a little while. The enemy was destroyed, but there was no ground left to grow food, burned by the cruel flame of hate, and all animals were killed. The fields would not be able to bear weed for many years and there were not enough people left to plant the seeds. The rest of his kind which was not been taken by the enemy or fire would die by hunger and diseases.

This was why he could not have even the slightest feeling of relief or satisfaction. It would have been much easier to die by the foe’s hand. Now his people would have to suffer. And there was no way they could get saved. The time of his race was over. There would be no Palace of Moons anymore, no Hidden Forest, no ever green fields of Peresa and no Elves to live in these places.

Silently he started to laugh. It was a cold and heartless sound, the only thing that could be heard here in the graveyard of his race. Slowly he got louder. Somehow he was amused by the irony of their fate. “They did not overpower us in battle!”, he giggled. “And yet they won! They didn’t bring us a quick death in battle, but a slow one in hopelessness without anyone to fight against! We survived, just to realize we have to die, and we can’t do anything about it!”