**Chapter 12: Calculation and Sacrifice**
The wind howled across the battlefield, carrying with it the acrid scent of smoke and blood. Riven stood at the edge of the camp, his eyes tracing the horizon where the remnants of the battle still smoldered. The victory was theirs, but it felt hollow. The cost had been steep.
His hands were trembling. He wasn't sure if it was from the exhaustion, the stress of the battle, or the weight of what had just happened. Regardless, it was a feeling he could not shake—guilt, sharp and suffocating. It gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The deaths of his allies, of those who had followed him loyally, were on his hands. And no amount of strategy, no amount of success in battle, could change that.
"Commander Riven," Lia's voice broke through his thoughts, though her tone was cautious, hesitant. She had seen the toll the recent events had taken on him, but there was nothing she could say to alleviate the burden.
He turned slowly, his face a mask of quiet torment. Lia stood in front of him, her gaze soft but unwavering. She knew what he was going through. They had fought side by side, and while Riven bore the weight of command, it was Lia who had often shared the emotional toll of their decisions. She understood him in a way few others could.
"The survivors are asking for orders," she said, her voice steady despite the evident concern in her eyes. "They need guidance."
Riven nodded but said nothing. He wasn't sure what to say. How could he give them orders when the very thought of leading them felt like a betrayal? He had made the decision that led to the deaths of those who had been loyal to him—men and women who had trusted his judgment. Now, there was nothing left but the aftermath, and the weight of that aftermath threatened to crush him.
The decision had been tactical, calculated. They had been outnumbered, their forces stretched thin. The enemy had begun to rally for a counterattack, a move that would have overwhelmed them completely if left unchecked. So, Riven had made the call to send a small contingent of soldiers on a suicide mission—a diversion to buy them time.
It had worked, of course. The enemy's advance had been halted, and the remaining forces had been able to regroup and push them back. But the price had been high. The soldiers in the diversion had not returned. The casualties were devastating, and many of them had been Riven's closest allies—men and women who had been with him from the beginning.
He had weighed the decision. He had calculated the risk, and in his mind, the outcome had been inevitable. They had won. But winning didn't erase the loss. Winning didn't bring them back.
Riven's eyes met Lia's, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he spoke. "I didn't have a choice."
Lia's expression softened, though her voice remained firm. "I know. But that doesn't make it any easier, does it?"
Riven clenched his jaw, the emotions swirling inside him threatening to spill over. "I ordered them to die. I sent them to their deaths. And for what? So we could live a little longer?"
Lia stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "You didn't want this. You did what you thought was best to protect the rest of us. That's what a leader does. They make the hard calls, the ones no one else can make. It's not your fault."
But Riven couldn't shake the feeling. The words were kind, but they did little to quell the storm inside him. How many more lives would be lost because of his decisions? How many more sacrifices would have to be made before the war ended?
"I told myself I could live with the consequences," Riven muttered, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. "That I could handle the weight of leadership. But this… this is different. This feels like something I can't undo."
Lia's eyes softened with understanding, though she didn't try to offer him any easy comfort. She knew better. "None of us are invincible, Riven. And none of us are perfect. But you do what you have to do. You did what you thought was right. And that's all any of us can do."
The silence between them stretched, heavy and pregnant with unspoken thoughts. Riven wasn't sure how much time passed before Lia spoke again.
"We need you, Riven. The people need you," she said quietly. "You've led us through every trial so far. Don't let this one decision define you. Don't let it break you."
Riven's gaze drifted back to the camp, to the soldiers who were still alive, who were still depending on him. They needed him. And despite the guilt and the pain gnawing at him, he knew that they couldn't afford to lose him now.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're right. They need me."
With a slow nod, Riven squared his shoulders and turned to face the camp. His soldiers were waiting for him. They were counting on him to lead them, to guide them through the storm. And he could not let them down.
But as he walked toward the gathering of his troops, he couldn't help but wonder: how many more sacrifices would be required before the war was over? And at what point would the cost of victory be too high?
—
The next few days passed in a blur. Riven threw himself into the task of reorganizing his forces, preparing them for the next phase of the war. His mind, though still burdened by the recent loss, shifted into the strategic mode that had always been his strength. He couldn't afford to lose focus, not now.
But even as he worked tirelessly to ensure their success, the faces of the fallen soldiers haunted him. He saw their faces in the crowd, felt their absence at every turn. It was as if the ghosts of those he had sacrificed were watching him, silently accusing him of his decisions.
"Commander," a voice called, snapping Riven out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Nyx standing in front of him, his expression unreadable as always.
Riven's lips pressed into a thin line. "What is it?"
"The enemy is regrouping," Nyx said. "They're planning another offensive. We'll need to act quickly if we're going to keep them at bay."
Riven nodded, his mind already working through the logistics. "I'll issue the orders. Gather the men."
As Nyx left to carry out his instructions, Riven found himself standing alone again, the weight of command settling back onto his shoulders. It was always like this—there was never time to mourn, never time to reflect. There was always something that needed to be done, some new crisis to face.
But this time, as he watched his soldiers move with purpose, readying themselves for the next battle, he couldn't shake the feeling that the sacrifices would never stop.
It wasn't just the soldiers who would suffer. It was him, too. Every decision, every life lost, would chip away at him, piece by piece.
And one day, he wondered, would there be anything left of him?
—
That night, Riven sat alone in his tent, staring into the flickering fire. His sword lay across his lap, its steel dull in the firelight. He had been thinking for hours, wrestling with the guilt, the weight of his actions, but also with the undeniable truth that there was no turning back.
The war would continue. His enemies would not stop. And in the end, neither would he.
But at what cost? That was a question he could not answer yet.