It was a grim day for Charles. He swung his bow over his shoulder and attached his axes to his belt before leaving. The day for war had finally come, and he was expected to join as an archer. He slapped his face, removing the grim appearance and replacing it with a stern face. It wasn't the first war he had been in, but he knew it could be the last he fought. This didn't get to him, however. He knew he was one of the lucky ones. He was a skilled archer and had his horse to ride. He saddled his horse, giving the small cabin he lived in one last look before riding off.
Alfred rode quickly with Isra and his small bodyguard. He wanted to arrive at the front before the Commonwealth's forces crossed the border. It was a tight window, but he knew it was possible with little rest. Isra looked at Alfred with worry. She could see that he was pushing himself. Despite his body having been trained for numerous years with Chris, he was still twelve. She quickened her pace, riding next to him, quickly getting his attention.
"We should stop. It's getting dark, and the horses need to rest." Alfred looked back at his men and their tired appearances. Giving a slight nod, he held his hand up and gestured.
"Set up camp quickly, then you may rest." He took a seat by the fire and roasted some meat on it. Isra took a seat next to him, taking her helmet off.
"You can't push yourself so hard. Your body won't take it." Her tone was full of concern. She knew it fell on deaf ears, but a faint hope existed that it would break through to Alfred. Although they had known each other briefly, Alfred was the first person she met who was like her, and she found herself wanting to support him and have his support. "What was your life like before this?" Her voice was quiet but full of intrigue.
Alfred's focus on the fire broke as he glanced around, seeing no one around. A deep sigh escaped his mouth. He had wanted to talk about his past. He didn't want a part of him bottled up without anyone knowing. But he knew that he couldn't fully trust Isra yet. "You said you were a warrior. What did you mean?"
His question got a soft smile. "My father was a general. No matter our gender, my siblings and I were all destined to join the military one way or another. I could have chosen to hate him for choosing my path for me. I could have run away. But instead, I made the most of it, and I found that I enjoye-no I craved it." Her eyes burned with passion as memories of the past flooded her mind.
"For years, I was sent to battle. Every scar, every wound was a medal for me. I had the respect of everyone; titles and honours were nice, but they never fulfilled me like my time in battle."
She took a break as the light in her eyes slowly changed. Throwing another batch of wood on the fire, it lit up again. "Then we lost. The imperial family was captured and executed. My father tried to rebel against our new Emporer, but it was futile, and my whole family was imprisoned. Some were executed; the rest, I don't know. But I. I was sent to the coliseum. What better entertainment for their people than making another nation's hero their fighter? I hated them for years but soon overcame it and learned to enjoy my life as a gladiator. Eventually, my bloodline died with me in the ring, and I found myself in this world. For years, I've lived as the abandoned princess, hoping to one day finally live the way I want."
Alfred listened. He could hear the emotions in her voice change from pride and arrogance to hatred, satisfaction, and finally defeat as her story went on. "Did you enjoy that life?" It was the only thing he could think to say in response to someone who had lived twice. Isra paused before giving a nod. Alfred looked deep into the fire, thinking about where to start.
"My mother died in childbirth. My father tried his best, but we were always poor. He hated me, I could tell. But he never tried to take it out on me, whether it was out of duty to my mother or some pride he held. He would come home, go to his chair, watch TV, and drink. That was life for eighteen years for me." Isra looked at him, confused at the mention of TV, but Alfred brushed it off, unbothered to explain. "Life continued like this until I could finally leave home. I travelled the world trying to find a purpose. Eventually, I stumbled upon it. In a poor village, the locals asked me to teach their kids English. I did it on a whim and stayed with them for a while before carrying on. But I realised what I wanted to do in those two months."
"From then on, I made it my job to be educated in as many subjects as possible. To teach as many people as possible. Decades I spent doing this, never getting tired of it, until one day, my vision went black. It couldn't have been more than a second, but when it came back, I was in this body, standing at a funeral."
Alfred took the meat of the fire and quickly ate it. He felt guilt every time he thought about the body he took and didn't want to linger on the topic. "I'm going to rest." Alfred left before Isra could reply as he walked off to his tent. He didn't know what she wanted to say, but he didn't care. Isra watched his back disappear into his tent. She felt bad for Alfred. While she got to live her first life satisfied, Alfred was devoid of that luxury and forced into a position vastly different from the one he had lived in before. He didn't have time to adjust to his new world and always had to watch his back or risk dying. She was surprised that he hadn't already become a paranoid wreck with his first assassination attempt.
As she looked at the two moons in the sky, the night was long for Isra.