The Last Soldier
Kyllen, baker's apprentice turned soldier, would forever by mystified when recounting how he came to lead the last squad fleeing the Duke's burning town.
Kyllen was just a conscript, pulled into the Duke's service for a month. That was almost a year past. Things had not gone well.
Gargs were everywhere, burning and looting, their animal cries mocking the Duke's folly. Their cries filled his fitful dreams.
In Kyllen's dreams, the terrified faces always turned to him, the "owner" of the glowing Elvenari blades, expecting him to lead them out of the mayhem. In his dreams, we smelled the stench of Garg and burning bodies and blood. Always blood. Everywhere.
He still didn't know how he had done it. There were strange half-memories of the retreat. He had fought without tiring, without fear. Some inner coil had released. Or snapped. He didn't know.
Maybe the softly glowing blades had taken over when his mind could stand no more.
He took one last look at the Duke's town as exhaustion started to grind him down. The Duke's town. The brave Duke had fled months ago.
Let it burn, he thought, finally empty of all attachment. Let it all burn, and let all things end. He didn't care anymore.
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