The war raged on the plains of Argath, the ground beaten by the iron of armies clashing in a devastating frenzy. Lyra stood on the edge of the battlefield, her eyes fixed on the chaotic scene before her. Warriors fell under the blows of steel, horses collapsed, screaming in pain, while flashes of light tore through the air as explosive spells flew in all directions. Dust and smoke choked the horizon, a sea of fire and ashes that engulfed everything in its path.
She had never imagined that the war would reach such a level of brutality. At every moment, the line between human and beast seemed to blur, and all that remained was a world on fire, devoured by destruction.
She could feel Vaelrath within her, his spirit spreading like a heavy shadow, marking her at every moment with his presence. He was there, invisible, but omnipresent, his thoughts intertwined with hers, guiding her actions, whispering strategies to her that she would never have imagined alone.
But deep down, an increasingly heavy weight suffocated her. It was no longer a question of simple survival decisions, of battles to be won. The ashes of her past mingled with the ashes of the world that was consuming itself around her. Every decision she made seemed to lead to a new loss, to new suffering. And the price to pay for each victory became more unbearable.
Lyra gritted her teeth, pushing back a wave of nausea that rose within her. She had seen death in all its forms, but here, at the heart of the war, there was no more clarity. No more distinction between what was right and what was not. It was an endless whirlwind where the innocent drowned in the midst of the flames.
With a glance, she spotted her comrades-in-arms: familiar figures she had met along her way, others she had trained and guided in this endless fight. They were all there, fighting, screaming, gradually losing the glimmer of hope that had animated them at the beginning.
Lyra looked away from the scene. She knew that the war was lost for both sides. There was no victory, just ashes and ruins. And deep in her mind, Vaelrath murmured.
— You see, Lyra, what war does to those who dare to wage it. This world is already doomed. You knew there was no turning back.
She clenched her fists. Yes, she knew. But that did not make her any less determined. She was there, and as long as there was still a spark of life in her, she would fight. Not for victory. Not for glory. But for those who, like her, had lost themselves in the flames of war.
A cry tore through the air, a sharp note of pain. Lyra turned around quickly and saw a soldier, a young man she had known before all this, fall under the blows of an enemy. He rolled in the mud, his eyes extinguished, his body lifeless.
She rushed towards him, her heart tightening in a pain that she could not express. The world seemed to have frozen around her as she reached the young soldier's body. Ashes swirled around them, carrying away the air of the battlefield. Her hands trembled as she bent over him.
Vaelrath then manifested in her mind, a heavy and almost suffocating presence.
— Don't think about it. There is nothing left to save here.
But Lyra felt her heart break in silence. She had known him. This young soldier, barely more than a child, who dreamed of finding a family again. They were all the same, all carrying broken dreams. And it was she, with the pact she had signed, who had condemned them to this end.
She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the rapid beating of her own heart. Then, with a strength that she did not know she possessed, she stood up and turned towards the rest of the battle. She knew that the war would not stop for her personal suffering.
But every death here marked her a little more. Every loss eroded her soul. Vaelrath was right. There was no going back. The war was an implacable machine that crushed everything in its path, and even the brightest of human wills eventually burned out in the ashes.
So, why continue? Why fight again, when everything seemed destined to sink into darkness?
Lyra knew that the answer was simple, even if she did not want to admit it: she was fighting for those who remained. Those who, despite everything, sought to preserve a glimmer of hope. Maybe she would not save this world. Maybe she was already too far gone to be saved herself. But there were still people who needed her. Innocents who had not yet lost all that they were.
The battle continued around her, but in her heart, Lyra knew that the war was not just a fight against an external enemy. It was a fight against herself, against the crumbling of her humanity, against the constant call of the beast within her, that draconic entity that was becoming more and more present with each breath.
She closed her eyes once more, feeling the ashes of her past mingling with the ashes of the present. But this time, she was not alone. Deep in her mind, Vaelrath had become silent. Perhaps he had understood, or perhaps he was simply waiting for the moment when she would give in to the temptation to lose herself completely.
But Lyra refused. She had chosen. And even if everything collapsed around her, she would not let herself be swallowed up.
She turned her back on the battle, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the dying sun painted shades of blood and ash. There was still a chance. Even if she did not know how, she would continue. For him. For those who had fought, for those who had followed her. And, perhaps, for a future that was not yet written.
The ashes, for a moment, froze in the air. A strange, almost supernatural silence, invaded the plain.
Lyra knew that the end of the war did not mark the end of her own story. She was still there. Still alive. And as long as she breathed, as long as a single breath still united her to the humanity she had lost, she would fight.