The black dragon Ark
Chapter 1
Attila pushed open the door to his small home, the scent of wood and dust filling his nostrils. His mind raced as he scanned the room, eyes quickly searching for the bottle of medicine his father needed. He had been given no clear instructions on where to find it, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. He should have told me where it is. He muttered under his breath, frustration creeping into his thoughts.
He moved quickly down the narrow hallway, already guessing that the medicine would be in his father's room. His footsteps were steady, but his heart pounded faster with each passing second. His father's health had been deteriorating, and every moment felt precious. Without hesitation, Attila opened the door and stepped inside, immediately walking to the drawer beside the cot.
There it was. A small vial, the label faded but familiar. This should be it. Relief surged through him, but it was fleeting, replaced quickly by the urgency of what needed to be done. Attila closed the drawer, barely registering the sound as it clicked shut, and walked out of the room, his steps more purposeful now.
Crossing the hall in a few quick strides, he pushed open the door and stepped outside. The sun was high, the sky a clear blue, and the woods surrounding their home were alive with colour. Yet, Attila didn't stop to appreciate the beauty of the world around him. His mind was elsewhere. The familiar sights of the forest felt distant, overshadowed by the weight of what lay ahead. His father's condition, the threat of invaders on the horizon—it all seemed to press on him, making the air feel thicker, the ground beneath his feet heavier.
He moved through the woods swiftly, his eyes fixed ahead, his thoughts locked on the task. He had no time for distractions now. I need to be strong, he reminded himself. For him. For us.
When Attila finally reached the clearing, his father, Oz, sat alone, the same steady presence he always was, even in moments of quiet reflection. His weathered face was turned toward the horizon, his eyes distant. He looked like a man lost in thought, but Attila knew the weight of the world was not far from him.
Without a word, Attila approached, placed the vial of medicine in his father's hands, and sat down across from him. For a long moment, neither spoke, the stillness stretching between them like a rope pulled taut.
Finally, Attila broke the silence. His voice was steady, free of hesitation. "Surely better days are coming, Father. We will defeat the invaders and We will reclaim our home and then gain revenge."
There was a quiet pride in his words, an unwavering belief that, despite everything, they still had a chance. He watched his father closely, waiting for some sign of acknowledgment, a word of reassurance. Oz remained silent for a moment longer, his eyes still fixed on the horizon.
I have Seen over 100 battles in my time Oz proclaimed with a calm voice and I always see the same pattern humans truly do not learn
Young men are drawn to war because they are still untarnished by the weight of experience. They see it as a grand stage upon which they may prove themselves, a way to carve meaning from the chaos of the world. In their innocence, they romanticise war as a means of transcendence, as through violence they might touch something which is not there. They dream of glory, of honour, of a world made clear through the simple clarity of bloodshed."
"But what they do not know is that war is not about glory; it is about the eradication of meaning. It is not a place for men to be made. It is a place where they are undone. The young man enters the fray thinking himself a hero, but the field of battle is no place for heroes Attila. It does not care for courage. It swallows men whole, their names forgotten, their deeds reduced to dust. War is not a moment of greatness. It is a moment of finality, of absolute annihilation, and in that annihilation, all illusions vanish by the landmine of reality."