"I thought I heard someone noisily yapping…"
In front of her is a young human male. The rain is heavy, and every pitter-patter creates ripples of the water droplets on the earth. The ground is wet and starts to get muddy.
Zeraya stands on her feet, blood still trickling down her abdomen. The rain washes her, somehow, the slight stinging in her wounds reducing a notch lower. She grunts painfully as she brings her only weapon— a crude iron dagger.
The pair of sharp steel daggers she initially had are now gone.
Zeraya doesn't have anything to say to the human in front of her. She doesn't really hate humanity to its core, and as such, she doesn't share the same motivations as the King. So it might seem very contradictory how she ends up involving herself in this war.
"I am Garus." The human introduces himself to her not an emotion on his face.
Zeraya painfully sighs as she inwardly blames herself for being too noisy a few seconds ago. She is so immature, but all of it is worth it. At least, she knows that she will die today aware and content that she is able to confess her feelings.
Childish, so little, and too simple.
No matter how insignificant it might be, it is these small little things that make something whole.
Zeraya gauges her foe with a keen mind. She defensively takes a defensive stance, the dagger a bit higher, too aware she is on the weaker side. 'Come at me,' she seems to taunt with her eyes.
And the human, Garus, takes great strides on this provocation by lunging forward, his steel sword stabbing in a straight line. Zeraya dodges to the side similarly lunging forward eager to stick her weapon to Garus.
However, Garus is anticipating this as he snaps his elbow hitting Zeraya by her nose. Garus brings his sword to an arc and strikes from above. The sword descends to Zeraya like a falling comet wanting to claim her life.
Zeraya barely manages to save hers, by fluidly deflecting the sword strike to the side. She feels her wounds hurting from overexerting herself.
Garus kicks her to her bleeding abdomen dealing extra damage.
Zeraya rolls to the wet ground getting mud on her face and open wounds. The injuries become more severe aggravating her life more and more. She cannot utilize her dagger-throwing skills as she only has a single dagger in her possession. She fears that it might compromise her 'defense' if she gives up her dagger for the sake of attacking.
She cannot easily give up 'defense' lest she might put his majesty's life in jeopardy. She has to endure so that in time, her fellow elf kin might be able to reach her so that they can save his majesty. She is a loose arrow, and she knows this. Her injuries are just too much, and it is a miracle she can still fight at this point.
It might still be possible to save her with Life Potions, but she doesn't dare fantasize about the impossible afraid that it might disturb her concentration. Zeraya feigns weakness by playing dead, she stays lying on the ground anticipating an opportunity. She counts in her head as she stretches her senses outside her perception.
Garus comes past Zeraya, totally ignoring her.
Zeraya feels her reason becoming out of control as she glances at the human's visage coming to his majesty, but she resists the instinct realizing that this might be an opportunity.
The rain is heavy. Too heavy that the sound of every raindrop is like the knocking of wood to wood. It also impairs her vision a bit as the rain's blurry droplets fill her eyes. Lightning falls, and thunder follows.
At the sight of a thick blue stream of light from the clouds, Zeraya springs with hungry speed. She swings her dagger at Garus's nape. Garus smiles as memories of his father ambushing him in the training grounds flash in his mind. He turns around tilting his neck as far as possible from the ambusher.
With a single motion, Garus stabs the assailant…
Zeraya doesn't know if she is hallucinating, as the dark clouds above split from the night sky, slightly allowing little moonlight. Her dagger weakly caresses Garus's throat, but her strength is too lacking, the oxygen in her blood too few to accommodate her physical exertion.
Garus's sword drives itself to her abdomen. He twists his sword, and casually pulls it. He puts pressure on his bleeding neck not feeling a bit of disturbance, his mad arrogance is being driven with revenge.
Zeraya falls flat on the ground, watching Garus approaching his majesty. Garus starts speaking, but Zeraya cannot hear any of his words all thanks to the rain, thunder, and her failing hearing.
Garus raises his sword, making Zeraya squirm. She wants to stand up. She wants to fight. It shouldn't be like this… She bitterly tells herself. It might be naïve to feel regrets at this point, but that is just her human nature. In her heart, she starts wishing and praying…
All too suddenly, moonlight begins to dance around them. It is beautiful. The dark clouds did part, and as if answering to her wordless pleading, his majesty is saved. A familiar figure stands in Zeraya's sight. Hazel brown hair, and golden eyes. He sheathes his sword and cradles his majesty in his arms.
The human by the name 'Garus' no longer has its head.
Zeraya's eyes grow duller at the moment, and with the last of her breath, she whispers to the air. "Please save his majesty… I leave it to you, Trudviar…" It is a whisper, yet it feels more like a scream… A silent scream of reluctance, yet reminiscent of a 'what if' it might have been. "For his majesty…" She adds in a final whisper.
The rain and dark clouds don't look so ugly anymore. Decorating it with little moonlight, it now becomes a picturesque scene in her eyes. Zeraya silently closes her eyes.
…
The human's head rolls in the mud.
Trudviar silently sends a prayer from his heart, and also a word of gratitude to Zeraya. "Thank you…"
The King, his majesty is pale, and must be hurting, but the coloration of his skin is not so bad he might die any second now. Trudviar can only attribute this to Zeraya's sacrifice. Soldiers start gathering at his location, he doesn't dare confront them head-on with his majesty's life on the line.
He grits his teeth facing this conundrum.
"General! Here!" Trudviar turns around, only to see someone too out of place. "Hurry! Before they surround us!" Lameya on top of a horse calls to Trudviar. She has another horse by its reins and asks Trudviar to come to her.
"You found us!" A light of hope presents itself to him. "Get his majesty to safety, I will cover you!" Leaving the narrow alley, Trudviar has Lameya carry the King on her horse. After giving up the Elf King to Lameya, Trudviar mounts the other horse and unsheathes his sword.
With Trudviar leading the way, the two bulldoze like a hot knife through butter among the soldiers. As if fate is overseeing them, they find little obstacles on their path as elves after elves provide assistance in their own little ways. The little moonlight follows them like the guiding hand of fate.
Arrows rain.
Steel collides.
Elves rise.
Humans fall.
Under the moonlit rain, the elves make their retreat in a frenzy. They fall anyone who dares cross their path, and with savage cruelty, they methodologically expose the human soldiers' frail hearts. They roar their savage war cries, inflict death in the most brutal manner possible, and leave death in their wake.
They arrive by the eastern gates with every elf gathering there. "Rejoice! We aren't dead yet!" He manically smiles, his body not even close to the end of its limits.
Trudviar descends from his horse and addresses Varen. "Escort his majesty back to Lorekleim Forest. Failure is not an option." He then turns around to Lameya, and with a proud gaze, compliments her. "You did excellently well, Lameya. Good luck."
Lastly, he gazes at his majesty, his King— Arthram Fae Zorun
The heavy rain starts weakening. The now light drizzle works perfectly in their favor allowing the horse to run at their full speed anytime soon. Varen and Lameya immediately set off. Trudviar's eyes remain on his majesty, their brave King, their new faith.
The elves don't have a solid religion, and their faith is not as systematic as the human race. They do not have anyone to pray to, but looking at his majesty, Trudviar realizes they don't need any unseeable god to place their faith.
With worship in his eyes, he declares passionately. "His majesty did not give up on us! And so we haven't given up on him! We followed his word, and we have reached this far! His self-sacrifice is honorable, but he is more than just a King to us now!" He strongly asserts, his eyes landing on every elf present.
Trudviar realizes. There is not a missing elf among them… He looks around, every face matching a face he knows… Not a single elf is dead… If this is not a miracle, then what is?
"We shall hold them off in this gate giving his majesty time to retreat! And I won't permit anyone of you to die!" The unreasonableness of his request resembles their King's desire for perfection. But only now did the other elves realize… not an elf among them is dead yet.
Lafira suddenly laughs out loud becoming aware of this miracle. "This is just great" Though rude, she didn't upset the atmosphere at all. Instead, her laughter rouses the dwindling fighting spirit of her sisters who are finding themselves in a battle of their mental exhaustion.
"For his majesty!" An elf shouts.
"For! His! Majesty!" And another.
"FOR! HIS! MAJESTY!" And all of them. They cry these words like a war chant as they solidly stand their ground fearless of the soldiers that ought to drown them with their numbers.
For his majesty.