I have seen war change folks in the most puzzling of ways, boy into men, men into something else. Shedding blood does something to you that I fear can never be undone. You asked me in your last letter why I never return home or sent you a missive. Dear mother this is why. I have never taken a life with my hands, but I have gotten men prepared who have then gone on to take hundreds of lives. I see the screams of the dead when I close my eyes and lay to sleep. War has changed me mother, I fear the lovely daughter you birthed and raised is long gone. I left you and father with the purpose of saving lives. I have failed. I have too much shame in my heart to come home. My wages will continue to reach you. Please continue to think of me fondly as your lovely daughter. Farewell
???
JOVIAN
Shiver's Edge
The cave was a womb of ice and shadow, its mouth agape towards the tempestuous sky. Inside, the air hung heavy with the scent of damp stone and human sweat. Thousands of warriors were packed together like sardines, their rhythmic breathing a low, constant hum. The dim torchlight painted grotesque shadows on the cavern walls, casting an eerie glow on the hardened faces of my comrades.
Marcia, my cousin and closest confidant, stood beside me, her breath misting in the frigid air. She was a warrior born, as fierce and determined as any man. Her presence was a steady anchor amidst the chaos. I glanced at the furs layered beneath my armor, a crude but effective shield against the biting cold.
My mind drifted to my father, Imperator Cato. Though no longer a soldier, his strategic brilliance was the bedrock of our plans. Uncle Aemilius, a seasoned warrior with youthful vigor, had honed my skills in the art of combat. And the countless tutors who had shaped my mind into a weapon of war were now silent advisors, their lessons echoing in the depths of my consciousness.
A shadow darted into the cave, breaking the tense silence. A scout, his face etched with fear and exhaustion, stumbled towards me. "Princeps Jovian!" he gasped, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. His eyes, wide with terror, held a message more potent than words.
I stepped forward, my heart pounding in my ears. "What is it?" My voice was steady, a mask to hide the churning dread within.
The scout's breath came in ragged gasps. "Their vanguard... they're almost here. Hours, not dawn. They've bypassed the verdant hollows." My mind reeled. Uncle Aemilius's force was supposed to hold that pass. How had they managed to outflank us? A chill of dread crept over me as I considered the terrifying implications.
I drew a deep breath, forcing calm into my racing heart. Panic was a luxury I couldn't afford. My mind raced, calculating options, assessing risks. We had to hold this line. Frosthold's fate, and countless lives, depended on it.
"Good work," I told the scout, dismissing him with a curt nod. He disappeared into the crowd, his face etched with relief. Turning to Marcia, I exchanged a grim look. A single, shared glance was all it took. She understood the formation, the plan. As she moved to organize our forces, I focused on the task at hand. An ambush was our only hope. We would use the treacherous terrain to our advantage. The narrow path ahead was a death trap waiting to be sprung.
As we moved into position, the weight of command pressed down on me. Every man's life was in my hands. The silence was broken only by the crunch of snow and the muffled whispers of my soldiers. Fear gnawed at me, but I pushed it aside. Now was not the time for weakness.
The world was a monochromatic expanse of white, the sky a bleak canvas streaked with angry gray. Snow fell in relentless sheets, coating everything in a silent shroud. Our breath hung in the air like ghostly tendrils, a stark contrast to the inferno of battle that was about to ignite. Our forces were a silent shadow, poised and ready, their figures indistinct in the swirling snow. I scanned the narrow pass, my gaze fixed on the distant horizon, the biting wind stinging my face. Minutes turned into an eternity. The tension was palpable, a living thing that throbbed in the veins of every man.
Then, a flicker of movement. A helmet, a shield emerged from the white haze. The vanguard was emerging. My heart pounded in my ears. This was it. The moment we had waited for. I raised my hand, a silent command. The archers readied their bows, their bodies taut with anticipation.
With a sharp, decisive gesture, I lowered my hand. The air exploded with the sharp crack of arrows, followed by the muffled thud of impact against flesh and armor. The enemy faltered, their formation breaking under the sudden onslaught. A chorus of shouts erupted from our hidden positions, a cacophony of war cries that shattered the silence.
"Ambush!" screamed a voice from the enemy ranks as they realized their peril. Now. With a roar that echoed through the icy air, we surged forward, a tide of steel and fury. Our initial assault was a whirlwind of chaos, a bloody ballet of sword and shield played out against the stark backdrop of winter. The clash of steel echoed through the battlefield like a symphony of death.
As planned, we feigned retreat, drawing the enemy deeper into our trap. I fell back with the advance team, a knot of dread and excitement twisting in my gut. The counterattack would be the true test of our mettle.
The counterattack was swift and brutal, catching them completely off guard. "Hold the line!" I ordered, positioning a blocking force to cut off any reinforcements. The enemy scrambled to reorganize, but it was too late. We had the upper hand.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through me as I scanned the battlefield. Our counterattack had been a gamble, a desperate roll of the dice. But it had paid off. The enemy, their formation shattered, was now on the defensive. Their once-confident advance had been transformed into a chaotic retreat.
I signaled to our flanking units to press the advantage. With renewed vigor, they surged forward, their weapons a blur of motion. The enemy, caught between our main force and the encroaching flanks, was being squeezed like a nut in a vise.
In the midst of the chaos, I found myself face-to-face with a notable enemy leader. His stature and the way his men rallied around him marked him as a leader. Our duel was fierce, a brutal dance of steel and sweat. I parried his blows with practiced ease, my blade a blur of defense. He was strong, undoubtedly, but his aggression lacked finesse.
I baited him with feints, drawing out his attacks before countering with swift precision. His breath grew ragged, his movements less certain. I saw an opening, a flicker of doubt, slowing his reaction. With a surge of energy, I lunged, my sword finding purchase in his guard. A sharp clang echoed through the battlefield as our blades met with a force that reverberated through my arm.
Disarming him was a calculated risk, but the reward was immediate. His sword clattered to the ground, leaving him vulnerable. With a swift motion, I rid him of his head, the cold steel of my blade stained with blood. His eyes wide in disbelief as his untethered head fell gracelessly to the ground.
My sword, gleaming with the blood of my foe, felt both foreign and familiar in my grip. It was the first time it had tasted blood in combat.
The sight of my first kill, the warm blood on my hands, shook me. The screams, the clash of swords, and the stench of death overwhelmed my senses. I hesitated, my focus slipping.
"Jovian!" Marcia's voice cut through the fog of war. She gripped my back of head and rested her forehead to mine, her eyes fierce. "For Frosthold!"
"For Frosthold," I echoed, her words grounding me. My resolve solidified, I pushed forward with renewed determination.
With a mighty roar, I rallied our troops. "Fight on! For Frosthold!" The men responded with a unified war cry, their spirits lifted. With every step, we pushed them back, our determination a palpable force. The enemy's cries of despair mingled with the triumphant roar of our own, a haunting chorus that echoed across the snowy expanse. We were a storm of blades and bravery, carving our legacy into the annals of Frosthold's history.
But as the final blow was delivered, an eerie silence descended upon the battlefield. A cold dread crept into my heart. Something was wrong. A presence, otherworldly and immense, washed over me, as chilling as the winter winds that swept across Frosthold. It was a force unlike anything I had ever encountered, a shadow lurking in the fringes of perception.