Haruto stood, his breath ragged and shallow, staring out across the battlefield. The weight of his sword felt almost comforting in his grasp, yet it had grown heavier with each passing second. He couldn't remember how long it had been since the battle began, nor could he recall how many enemies had fallen beneath his blade. The bodies of his foes—tens, no, hundreds of them—lay beneath his feet like a twisted throne. Blood, both his own and theirs, soaked the earth around him, painting the ground in shades of crimson.

The distant horizon was a sea of advancing enemies, a wave of countless warriors marching toward him. They moved like a single, unstoppable force, and Haruto could almost feel the ground tremble beneath their steps. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, stretching shadows over the carnage, and a cold wind whispered through the battlefield, carrying with it the scent of death. His vision swam, fatigue pressing down on him like a suffocating weight, but still, he refused to kneel.

Is this how it ends?

The thought eating at him like a parasite. For a brief moment, he let his mind wander—back to what once was. The first time his sword tasted blood. The thrill of the first victory. He had been a different man then. Young. Hungry. So certain of himself. He had fought with honor, not for himself, but for his comrades. For his country. For his people.

He remembered his mentor's voice, echoing in his mind as though he stood beside him. "Fight not for glory, but for those who cannot fight. You have a duty."

Had he lost sight of that duty? Or had it been crushed under the weight of endless war? Every battle had felt like a victory at first, each one affirming his belief that this was what he was meant to do. But now, he couldn't help but feel that something—something essential—had been lost along the way.

"I promised them…"

His sister's face flashed before his eyes. The last time he had seen her. Her voice, pleading with him before he left. "Don't become like them, Haruto. Don't let this war change you."

Had it? Had he become what she feared? A monster, consumed by violence, unable to protect even those closest to him?

A memory hit him hard—the night his closest friend had died, holding his shattered shield against a dozen foes. "We'll survive this, won't we, Haruto?" His last words, a quiet plea. He hadn't made it. Haruto hadn't made it in time.

What went wrong?

His grip tightened on his sword, but it didn't ease the pain. The battle cries of his enemies grew louder, their numbers swelling.

Haruto's mind spun with fleeting images—faces of those he couldn't save. The young soldiers, their lives snuffed out like candles, their dreams never realized. The blood of his comrades on his hands, the weight of their unspoken trust and expectations. It had all led him here. Alone. Surrounded by death.

He thought of his promise to the people. To protect them. To never fail. Yet here he was. Alone.

He whispered to himself, almost as if the world had slowed to a crawl. "I failed… I failed them all."

The first wave of soldiers was upon him now. Their weapons gleamed in the setting sun, their eyes filled with the hunger of conquest. Haruto stood his ground, breathing through the suffocating weight of his regret. His body trembled with exhaustion, but his resolve was something else entirely. He had nothing left to lose.

With a final, defiant swing of his blade, Haruto prepared to face the storm. His strength was faltering, but there was one last fight in him.