No Man's Land Aurelion 1, 1910
The sound of gunshots. The roar of mortar shells flying overhead and slamming into the ground.
The cries of wounded men, screaming in pain.
I asked myself, Why am I here?
I don't remember anymore. All I know is I'm here for my faith to defend it from the Infidels.
But now, I'm not even sure if it's worth it.
I used to think the sun always rose for the righteous.
That's what they taught us at the Citadel of Flame that as long as we marched under Sol's light, we would never truly die.
But down here, in the mud-choked trenches, the sun doesn't rise.
It drips.
It bleeds.
It's hard to tell if the sky is red from dawn… or from the smoke of endless shelling.
"Hey! Soldier! Snap out of it!"
A loud voice dragged me back to reality, followed by a sharp slap across the face.
"Sir!" I said instinctively.
"Why are you hiding here like a coward? Get up and charge! Insubordination will not be tolerated!"
"I I'm sorry, sir! I was temporarily deafened by the mortar shells."
I got to my feet, legs trembling, and picked up my rifle.
"Then move! For Sol! Kill those infidels!"
I ran through the smoke and chaos, weaving through craters and corpses, mortar blasts shaking the ground beneath my boots.
I reached the forward trench and spotted familiar faces. Maximus was there.
"Caelen! What happened to you? Are you okay? I thought you were dead after those shells hit!"
"Yeah… I'm fine," I replied, catching my breath. "Just lost my hearing for a bit."
Then the officer arrived, giving us our final orders.
"MEN! This is more than a war for faith—it is a war for our homes, our families, and our future. PRAY to Sol. Let His light guide you to victory. Now CHARGE!!"
The whistle blew.
We climbed out of the trench and surged forward mud splashing, bullets hissing past, shells falling all around us.
Our objective was simple but brutal:
Take the enemy trench. Defend it. Then advance to the next.
This was the final push.
The horror was unbearable.
I once thought war would bring glory.
But it only brings death.
"Charge! For Sol is our light!" shouted a soldier beside me just before a shell exploded nearby, ripping off his limbs.
I froze.
Then rushed to his side.
"Maximus! Help me! You're the medic get over here!"
Maximus didn't hesitate. He dropped beside me and helped pull the dying man into cover.
"Comrade Sol's light… will take me now," the soldier whispered. "You must go on…"
"Just shut up. Maximus, help him!"
Maximus pressed on the wounds, working fast, but the blood wouldn't stop.
"Caelen… I'm afraid we can't help him. He's lost too much blood."
"Do something!" I shouted.
"There's nothing we can do!" Maximus replied.
The soldier's eyes fluttered, and a faint smile touched his lips.
"I see it now… the light… Sol will take me…"
He exhaled.
His eyes remained open, unmoving.
"He's gone," I said softly. "From ash we were lit… to fire we return."
I reached out and gently closed his eyes.
"Caelen! Let's move! We'll die here if we stay those mortar shells are still coming in!" Maximus shouted.
I picked up my rifle, heart pounding, and ran again.
We charged with everything we had, pushing through barbed wire, smoke, and chaos.
I fired at the enemy, saw one fall. My comrades screamed "FOR SOL!" and leapt into the enemy trench, bayonets drawn.
The fighting was brutal close, desperate, bloody. Bullets snapped past my head. All I could do was pray I wouldn't be next.
"Maximus!" I shout
I saw him stabbed bayoneted through the stomach by an enemy soldier.
I fired. The attacker dropped.
I rushed to Maximus and grabbed him.
"Are you okay?" I asked, panicking.
"Yeah… it's fine. Luckily not vital." He winced but managed a weak smile.
I helped him to his feet. Together, we stumbled forward, just as our unit raised the banner of Solarinism above the captured trench.
The enemy was retreating.
We had won the position.
I looked at Maximus still alive.
I looked at the rising sun—faint through the smoke.
"Thank Sol… I survived another day."
"Well done, my comrades!" the officer shouted, his voice rising over the crackling smoke and distant gunfire.
"This victory is not just for Sol or the Church, but for our fallen brothers as well. The Nuralist infidels now run and cower before our might. But this is not over."
He paced along the edge of the trench, his boots caked in blood and mud.
"We may have won this battle but not yet the war. We will not stop until we march upon the heart of the heretical stronghold Qazira! Treat the wounded. Rest if you must. But steel yourselves... for tomorrow, we fight again!"
A wave of cheers erupted from the surviving soldiers—tired, wounded, but filled with pride and fury.
Beside me, Maximus groaned.
"Damn it, Caelen... it hurts."
He clutched his side, where the bayonet had pierced him earlier.
"Don't talk," I muttered, kneeling beside him. "Save your energy, you reckless bastard. What the hell were you thinking, charging like that?"
"And now you're scolding me?" he said with a strained grin. "What are you, my mother?"
I shook my head, tightening a strip of cloth around his waist to keep pressure on the wound.
"That's enough. We're here to serve our country and the Church but we're not here to throw ourselves into death blindly. Sacrifice and suicide aren't the same thing, Maximus. You remember that."
"Alright, alright... I hear you." He winced.
I slung his arm over my shoulder and helped him to his feet.
"Come on. Let's get you treat you properly That stab needs proper treatment before it festers."
We limped together through the muddy trench corridors. The air was thick with blood and antiseptic.
When we reached the field treatment post, the sight struck me hard: men screaming, limbs gone, eyes wide with pain or fear or nothing at all. The stench of burning flesh and old blood made me vomit.
A military doctor noticed us and hurried over, stained gloves held out.
"He's been stabbed low—didn't hit anything vital, I think," I told him quickly.
The doctor nodded, pointing to an empty stretcher between two more badly wounded men.
"Set him there. We'll do what we can."
I laid Maximus down gently, and for the first time in hours he closed his eyes.
After laying Maximus down, I gave his shoulder a quick pat and stepped back.
"You'll be alright," I said, though I wasn't sure if it was for him or for myself.
The medic was already cutting through his uniform, barking orders to an assistant. I stood there for a second longer, watching the bloodied hands of men who had seen too much and saved too few.
But I couldn't help anymore. I wasn't a healer.
I stepped out of the crowded treatment shelter, the smell of blood and sweat still clinging to my uniform. The cold air outside bit at my face, but it felt cleaner than what was inside.
I wandered a bit through the trench until I found a quiet corner just beyond the view of the officers, where the shadows of the barricades gave a little comfort.
I sat down, back against the wooden wall, and rested my rifle beside me.
The cheers from earlier had died down. Now, it was just the wind… the faint moans of the wounded… the occasional distant thump of artillery somewhere far away.
I bowed my head And for the first time since the battle began, I closed my eyes not in prayer, not in fear, just in silence.
For one moment, I allowed myself to drift
Not into dreams I muttered to myself a verse of Sacred text The Mirror Codex, Book of Embers 3:14
"In fire, we ascend, and through the flame, we are made pure.
The ash of the fallen shall mark the path of the faithful, And the light of Sol shall burn upon the righteous.
For as gold is refined by fire, so too shall the soul be tested
Not in comfort, but in the crucible of sacrifice."