In a corner of a battlefield drowning in the scent of blood, a young man sat huddled, hugging a saber in one hand and a barely recognizable woman in the other.
Whenever he had time, he could only check on her like this. Within his heart, there was a constant weighted fear that seemed to drive its erratic beating. It was a fear that she might breathe her last at any moment, that their next seconds might be their last seconds together.
By some miracle, she had managed to last for this long, but the bleak future ahead made every moment that pass only grow more suffocating. It was like the laws of probability themselves were toying with his fate.
Every moment she survived should have been a happy event, and yet it was just a reminder that every following second only made it more likely.
It was times like this that he wished he was stronger, wished he was more like his cousin, more unrestrained, more powerful, more capable.
