Life Goes On

Abram Ross stood on the field adjacent the staging ground, a heavy wind stirring his cloak and brushing against the cold steel of his armor.

His sword, Freedom, hung by his side, its weight comforting and at the same time, depressing.

It forced him to go through questions in his mind. Would things have turned out this way if he'd been with his sword? If he'd taken the time to actually ascend to Rank 6?

He knew objectively that the battle was now in the past and there was nothing he could change about it, but his mind kept repeating the same sentence.

He'd killed his own son.

The morning sun rose in the east, greeting those who had just woken up but Abram hadn't slept. Not for a moment. Not since Ren had come back from the capital, wrath written in every line of his body.

Not since he'd delivered the message.

There would be no army.

House Ross would stand alone.