The soldiers rush towards the castle walls like a ruthlessly raging river.

There isn't any time to breathe, to brace yourself for the next attack, to help someone get back up. Dusk is setting in and the sun is not the only thing slowly fading away.

Every time they push me a step closer to the walls, the burden on my shoulders gets heavier. As if I were Atlas, cursed to carry the world for all eternity. More and more often I make mistakes that should have cost me my life, more and more often a blur appears before my eyes that just won't go away.

Pain courses through my body, searching for the last shreds of hope that hide there. My breath burns my lungs, my sweat mixes with blood and dirt. Each time I raise my sword, it strikes home and I hack at my enemy. I wonder where the glorious end is that is sung and written about.

But I know that heroes don't die in a warm bed, after a rich and fulfilled life. Heroes die on the battlefield and hope that Hades will leave a spot for them.

I stagger. There is only the blood-soaked earth to catch me. I saw it coming. I just didn't think it'd come so soon. I thought I'd win this battle, that I had guided my men to victory. I thought I could have still seen my son grow up. But I too know that heroes die.