It was a massacre. I could only stare in shock as my men were slaughtered like pigs left and right. Why couldn't we see this coming?
I was the commander of a legion for my empire. A bunch of excellent soldiers they were. Only a few times did I catch them passed out drunk in all my time in the military. They were loyal to the last l. But that didn't prevent their demise. Many were fighting here to protect their families. Wives, husbands, children, and more were waiting at home, hoping that their loved ones are going to come home after the fight.
That hope would never come true.
A few weeks ago, we had a peasant rebellion. The driving force behind the uprising, which made the whole thing possible, were our corrupt politicians. Many died in that conflict. And out of the flames of this rebellion, a new government arose, like a phoenix. But we were weakened from this conflict, foreign empires eying our cities and lands. Most of our towns and cities were underground, like the ones from dwarves or the gremlin clans — the lands above solely used for wheat and other food-related products.
Our cities were built from white marble, the caverns flooded in a comfortable white light coming from crystals supplied by magic runes.
Our advancement in magical tools and objects were second only to the celestial people with their avian wings. Not even the elves could best us in that regard. But that wasn't all. What made us special beyond compare was our combination of technological and magical advancement. Steam engines were a thing of the past. New Vehicles powered by magic crystals and specialized mages were carrying people around on rails designed solely for this vehicle.
But our advancements made us arrogant, blinding us to the danger and intrigue of other empires.
But no one expected the celestial kingdom to be the first to attack — the traitorous bastards going against all of our treaties and attacking us overnight.
Now I, the commander of this legion of excellent soldiers, was never one to think myself above my men or horde riches, which in the end granted me this loyal bunch. In my opinion, they were too good for me. I am proud of them, pleased to be given the honor to command them.
I was a man of common birth — my mother, a farmer, and my father, a normal foot-soldier. I was conscripted at the age of 14, as was a common occurrence in our empire. Every citizen had to absolve 1-year training and 6 Years of military service. In my year of training, they noticed my remarkable talent for magic, swordsmanship, science, and tactics. Everyone had to lead a platoon of soldiers at one time to absolve a test for your skills in leadership. I finished with flying colors, not one scratch on any of my soldiers. Through the test, I earned respect from my peers, and even the older generation had an inkling of respect and awe shining in their eyes when they talked to me. It was clear: I would be spared from the life of a common peasant. The next years I spent climbing the ranks faster than anyone before me and in the end, getting to lead one of the 5 Legions of our empire.
Now I stood before the enemy commander, the last dozen of my men standing their ground around me. Trying to hold the hordes back while I fought the enemy commander.
It wasn't enough.
At first, it looked like I would win my fight, till I noticed the last soldier of mine being torn apart by multiple ice shards on his knees looking at me and whispering something with his final breath and saluting at me.
"It … was an .... Honor ….. serving with you sir... see you….. on the other si-"
The whisper broke off as he drew his last breath, smiling at me with tears on the brink of flooding his face. Something broke in me at the time, something important, I think.
My thoughts interrupted by the sword sticking through my chest. Burning with blue fire, it was thrust through my heart. Tasting iron in my mouth and the blue sparks of the sword mirroring in my eyes, I knew my time had come.
"… It wa..s an… ho..nor to…. be…. In command of….. you guys..." I whispered, interrupted by violent coughs in between. Blood spraying on the floor before me. The last thing I saw before I lost my vision, was a figure clouded in black mist. A cunning yet kind smile was the only visible thing as the person was hooded. The hem of the hood clouding the top of the face in shadows. The face was ending in a round chin with high cheekbones. The figure was standing between soldiers who were acting as if it wasn't there. Then it disappeared and with it my vision and my last breath.
After Tachatra died on the battlefield, his consciousness was transported to a dark place. Here he began to hear an ethereal voice.
"My little soldier boy, long have I watched you. I have to say that I was impressed by your various skills, your character, your thirst for knowledge of everything."
Tachatra wanted to know what would happen to him. The Voice answered, "Your soul is broken, so to become my vassal in the mortal plane, I will have to fuse your soul with those of your people. The only thing that will happen after your resurrection is, that your body will be one of undeath while your memories will be temporarily lost. At the end you will have the memory of every individual."
Tachatra was ashamed to ask, "What is your name, my goddess, and why are you granting me this chance?"
She began, "My name will be the first god you hear of after resurrection, and I am doing this as a form of experiment. More will be known by you at a much later time. Goodbye." Suddenly Tachatra heard nothing but at the same time felt as if he was losing something, but what was it again. And so he drifted off into unconsciousness.