Soldier's Sorrow.

[Eirlys' Perspective]

I aimed, fired, aimed again. The recoil jolted through my arms, each shot driving the memories away, just for a moment. I repeated the motion of firing my weapon, again and again, until my muscles burned and my breaths came in ragged gasps.

But it wasn't enough. No matter how many targets I hit or how many bullseyes I scored, every time I closed my eyes, I saw Heraklios' face contorted in pain and heard his screams of agony.

It wasn't enough to distract me. I tried to focus, to forget my thoughts and concentrate on the targets in front of me. But they were becoming blurry, and my hands were shaking. I was losing my grip. I took a step back, lowering my weapon. I was in the shooting range, surrounded by silence after the barrage of shots.

As I caught my breath, a soldier approached me, panting. "Sir, you're needed," he said. Fear gripped me, and I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to Heraklios. He was my closest friend, my brother in arms, and I couldn't lose him.

I followed the soldier to the infirmary, where I found Heraklios screaming in agony, trying to escape the room. "I'm on my way, just hold on a little longer," he was crying out, his voice filled with pain. The nurses and doctors were desperately trying to hold him back, but he was thrashing and struggling, the burns on his arms visible even from where I stood.

I rushed forward, eager to help, but Heraklios pushed me back, his eyes filled with anger and frustration. "You can't help me," he cried out. "No one can."

I felt a surge of regret and sadness, knowing that there was nothing I could do to ease his pain. I felt helpless for not being able to help my friend. Suddenly, Heraklios thrashed wildly again. I tackled him, pinning him to the ground. The nurses and doctors took advantage of the moment and quickly injected him with a calming medicine. Heraklios relaxed, his thrashing subsiding.

The medical team helped me get him back into bed and settled him in. The doctor then examined Heraklios's wounds, only to find that they had all re-opened. "We're going to do everything we can for him," the doctor said, looking concerned. "But his injuries are severe, and the fact that they've reopened doesn't bode well."

I nodded, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on me. I stayed by Heraklios's side, watching as the medical team worked to keep him comfortable. The sight of my friend in so much pain was hard to bear, and I couldn't help but feel guilty for not being able to do more.

After what felt like an eternity, Heraklios finally fell asleep, his breathing shallow and laboured. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

As I stepped out of the infirmary building, my squad mates were waiting for me, their faces etched with worry and exhaustion. Some leaned against the building's rough-hewn walls, while others stood with arms crossed, their eyes scanning the surrounding area for any signs of danger.

"How is he?" one of them asked, his voice trembling with concern.

I took a deep breath, my mind still reeling from the sight of Heraklios struggling for breath. "Not good," I said softly. "His breathing was shallow and laboured. I don't know how much longer he can hold on."

My squad mates fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts and fears. We had been through so much together, and it was moments like this that reminded us of the futility of war and the toll it took on those who fought it.

As we stood there, uncertain of what to do next, our squad leader Krystallea rushed towards us. Her boots pounded against the rocky ground, and her breath came in ragged gasps.

"How is he?" she asked urgently, her voice reflecting the concern etched on her face.

I shook my head, unable to find the words to describe the pain and suffering I had just witnessed. "Not good," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.

Krystallea's eyes met mine, and for a moment, we both stood there in silence, each knowing what the other was thinking.

We had all seen too many comrades fall in battle, too many lives cut short by the brutality of war. But we couldn't let ourselves give up hope just yet.

Krystallea took a deep breath, breaking the heavy silence that hung in the air. "We need to keep moving," she said firmly, her gaze scanning the faces of each of us in turn. "Captain Marcus has called an emergency meeting at Point 23, and every able-bodied soldier is required to attend."

Vestera furrowed his brow in confusion. "Point 23? What's going on?"

"I don't know," Krystallea admitted, her voice tinged with anxiety. "But if Captain Marcus is calling an emergency meeting, it can't be good. We need to go, now."

Without another word, Krystallea turned and began to stride purposefully towards Point 23, her steps quick and sure. We fell into step behind her, our thoughts still with our injured comrade, but our bodies moving mechanically towards the next mission. It was a constant struggle to balance the weight of what we had just experienced with the urgency of the tasks ahead, but as soldiers, we had no choice but to press forward.

As we made our way through the dense woods, my heart sank at the sight of wounded soldiers scattered throughout the area. Some were barely able to stand, leaning heavily on nearby trees, while others gritted their teeth as they leaned on their weapons for support.

A group of soldiers supported a wounded comrade, his eyes squeezed shut as he gritted his teeth against the agony. The overwhelming sight of their suffering was almost too much to bear.

Approaching the wounded soldiers, the reality of the situation became more apparent. Some had bandages wrapped tightly around their limbs, while others had blood seeping through their torn uniforms.

The pain and suffering etched onto their faces were a stark reminder of the horrors of war and the price that they and their families were paying for it. The distant rumble of explosions in the distance only served to amplify the sense of danger and hopelessness that permeated the air, as each blast seemed to shake the very ground beneath our feet.

Krystallea wasted no time in assessing the situation at Point 23 once we arrived. Her sharp and commanding voice cut through the murmurs of the resistance group as she ordered us to join the others. With confident and purposeful steps, she strode towards a group of five soldiers, her previously gentle demeanour replaced by an authoritative presence that demanded attention.

As I surveyed the desolate area around Point 23, a sense of isolation crept over me. The dilapidated buildings loomed overhead, their walls stained with grime and covered in graffiti, reflecting the gloomy sky through their broken windows. Rusty barbed wire fences crisscrossed the area, warning of the danger within.

The dense underbrush and towering trees obscured the horizon, making it feel as though we were trapped in a claustrophobic jungle.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and smoke, and the distant sound of gunfire echoed through the woods like a menacing drumbeat. Squelching footsteps announced our arrival on the soft and spongy ground, still soaked through with recent rain.

Captain Marcus emerged suddenly from the woods, striding with purpose towards the six soldiers gathered in front of the large rock. His boots crunched on the underbrush, and the rustle of leaves followed his steps.

As he climbed onto the rock, his presence commanded attention, and the soldiers turned to face him. The scent of decay and ash hung heavy in the air, and the distant howls of wild animals echoed through the dense and foreboding forest. The darkness was all-consuming, as if the world itself had been stripped of all light and hope, leaving only an endless abyss of suffering and despair.

"Last night, we were attacked," Captain Marcus began, his voice low and steady yet full of authority. "The enemy broke through our defences, and we were forced to scatter in all directions once the bombing started. We lost our base, our weapons, and many of our comrades. It was a devastating blow, but we didn't let it defeat us."

The soldiers shifted on the rock, their boots sinking into the soft, spongy ground. The chirping of birds in the trees mixed with the adrenaline pumping through their veins.

"You fought back," Captain Marcus continued, his voice growing stronger with each word. "you pushed back against the enemy, using every bit of training and skill you had. And while we ultimately lost the battle, we did not lose the war."

The soldiers stood a little taller, gripping their weapons a little tighter. Captain Marcus's words stirred something deep within them, a sense of pride and determination they had never felt before.

"Now, we face a new challenge," Captain Marcus said, his voice firm but gentle. "The enemy is on the move, and we don't have much time. But we're not going to let them take us by surprise. We're going to hit them hard and fast before they can regroup and mount a counterattack."

The soldiers nodded in agreement, their hearts racing with anticipation. They knew that with Captain Marcus's leadership, they could overcome any obstacle.

He jumped down from the rock and strode purposefully towards the edge of the clearing, where our supply wagons were waiting. "I want everyone to gear up and get ready to move out - we're leaving in 2 hours."

The sound of weapons being gathered and supplies being packed echoed through the clearing as the other soldiers around me began to move. I felt a renewed sense of purpose wash over me, and I was ready to leave.

I approached Vestera, who was shoving his clothes and equipment into his pack. "Hey, Vestera," I said, trying to sound upbeat. "You ready for this?"

Vestera looked up at me, his eyes narrow and bloodshot. "Ready for what, Eirlys? Another suicide mission? Another chance to watch our friends die?"

I winced at his harsh tone, but I knew he had every right to be angry. Our last battle had been a disaster, and we had lost too many good soldiers. "I'm sorry, man," I said, my voice low. "I know it's hard. But we can't let that stop us from fighting. We have to keep going."

Vestera slammed his hand down on his pack. "Keep going? How can you say that, Eirlys? We're losing this war. Every day, we lose more ground, and more people. And for what? For a cause that's already lost?"

Taken aback by his words, I took a step back. I had never heard Vestera speak like this before. But then again, I had never seen him so broken. "That's not true, Vestera. We're making progress. We just have to keep pushing."

Vestera laughed bitterly. "Progress? What progress? We've been fighting for months, and we're no closer to victory than we were at the beginning. All we have to show for it is a pile of dead bodies."

The weight of his despair was crushing, but I couldn't let him give up. "We can't give up, Vestera. We have to keep fighting. For those who have died, for those who will die. For the future."

Vestera shook his head, his eyes filled with tears. "What future, Eirlys? What kind of future is there for us? We're soldiers, not martyrs damn it. We shouldn't have to die for a lost cause."

I didn't know what to say. Vestera's words hit me hard, and I couldn't deny the doubt and fear that were creeping into my mind. But I couldn't let it show. Not in front of him. "We'll make it through this, Vestera," I said, my voice steady.

"Together."

Vestera's bitter laugh echoed through the empty room, the sound heavy with disillusionment. He shook his head, the movement slow and deliberate. "Together?" he repeated, the word dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what you think this is? A battle we can win by holding hands and singing songs?"

His voice was still thick with bitterness, but there was a hint of sadness in it now. "You always had a way with words, Eirlys," he said, his tone resigned. "But words won't save us out here. They won't bring back the ones we've lost, or stop the ones we're about to lose."

He turned away from me, his gaze fixed on some distant point. "I don't know what will save us," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I know damn well it's not words."

The rustling of leaves in the wind sounded like a mocking whisper, taunting us with the endless expanse of the forest. Vestera's hopelessness weighed heavy on my mind, suffocating me like a thick fog. I could feel the weight of his words crushing me, the doubts and fears that I had been holding at bay creeping to the surface.

Despite my efforts to cling to hope, it felt like a feeble flame in the face of the darkness that surrounded us.

As we continued to pack our gears and prepared to move out, the air became thick with a sense of impending doom.

Vestera's silence was more unsettling than his bitter words had been; it felt like he had given up on even pretending to hope. Every step we took felt like walking into a black hole, a void that threatened to swallow us whole.

But we had to keep going. I could feel the doubts and fears creeping up, but I had to hold onto something. "I know. But it's all we have right now. We have to hold onto something," I said, trying to reassure both of us.

Vestera's sarcastic jokes and dark humour were gone, replaced by a deep sadness and a feeling of hopelessness that I couldn't shake. Still, I knew that we had a duty to fulfil, for ourselves, for each other, and for everyone who had sacrificed so much already. We were soldiers, and even if it meant walking into the darkness, hand in hand, we had to keep going.