But first...
They would remember their dead.
There were tears in Soraya’s eyes, but she blinked them away as the King arrived, carrying with him a bundle of swords. They had not yet been cleaned of the blood that now crusted upon them, for to do so would be to remove the signs of their final fight. Their bravery, as they fell in war, fighting for the almighty Five.
Arawn stared at those swords, as his father paused in front of the Sacred tree. The ice sparkled on its branches. The sky shifted from black to a winter-kissed pink and blue, as if the storm had subsided...just for this moment.
“Immy, Child of Dhysis,” the King said. It was so quiet, the name echoed across the courtyard. Somewhere behind him, he heard a sob ring out. The king didn’t even flinch as he plunged her sword deep into the snow.
“Loren, Child of Aristra.”
A raven cawed and soared south from the neighboring cliffside, carrying the names of the dead as the king drove in another sword.
“Kelsea, Child of Avane.”
It was followed by muttered prayers, the very same ones that left Arawn’s lips as he asked the gods to guide the fallen home.
The list went on, until six swords joined the others. All of them were seasoned warriors, Knights who’d given their lives to this war...until their final battle.
Such was their way.
And as the snow fell, gathering upon tearstained cheeks and bloodstained hilts...the Sacred prayed. To their gods, and to the gods of the fallen, they sent up whispers of offering as they released their souls, one by one, into the Ehver.
And when it was over...
Arawn stayed.
Until his legs grew weary, and the warming runes on his cloak began to grow dim.
He stayed.
He didn’t realize Soraya was beside him until her hand brushed his. A jolt of fire went through him. He glanced at her only for a moment, enough to see the kohl from her eyes now ran in streaks down her skin.
“Sometimes,” Soraya whispered, so softly he almost didn’t hear it, “I wonder if this is all there is.”
She looked skyward, tipping her chin to the snow as it fell like ashes upon her blood-flecked face.
Arawn shivered. The last of his warming runes winked out. “What do you mean?”
Her breath formed a cloud before her. The wind tugged at the strands of dark hair that had come loose from her braid. She looked small, and weary, her shoulders slumped instead of rolled back the way they were before the war.
And in this moment...she no longer looked like a warrior.
Now, she only looked like a girl. One who would carry today’s battle with her, all the way to the grave.
“We were raised for this,” Soraya said. “Death. Destruction. This gods’ war that has become ours. It was all I ever wanted, to fight in that battle. We’ve earned our swords, Arawn. We survived. And it should feelright.”
She looked at him.Throughhim, until he swore she was staring at the boy he once was beneath. The one that had questions. Doubts. The one that dared to dream, until he realized it was all just another stronghold. Another way to sin against his gods.
“I imagine it’s normal,” Arawn said, his voice raw and weak. “To feel this way...the first time.”
“Perhaps,” Soraya said. “But do you ever wonder...”
She paused, and fresh tears slid down her face.
He didn’t blame her for them.
They’d killed tonight.
