Coin of Believe

Edward's pulse raced in his ears. The flicker in his mind—the odd, glowing patterns—was already fading away, like a half-remembered dream. He clenched his fists, his breathing irregular.

"What… are The Runes?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Michelle didn't respond right away. She observed him as if weighing her following words. Her piercing green eyes, typically composed, now revealed something different—hesitation.

Then, just as she opened her mouth—

A sudden, deep tremor shook the walls, followed by the distant sound of hurried footsteps and loud voices outside. A sharp, urgent clang of metal against stone echoed through the corridor, followed by the unmistakable slam of a door being thrown open forcefully. Edward barely had time to turn before the heavy wooden doors of their room burst open, rattling on their hinges, sending dust spilling from the cracks in the stone walls.

His body responded before his mind, his remaining hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.

In the doorway stood a young soldier, his breath ragged and his face drenched in sweat. His broad, frantic eyes darted between Edward and Michelle before finally locking onto her.

"Lady Michelle! Commander Richard is calling all remaining forces to the entrance of Emberhold!"

Before Edward completely grasped the situation, Michelle was already on her feet. She silently passed by the soldier, her movements quick and resolute. As Edward headed toward the gathering point, his mind was far from at ease. The overwhelming amount of information bore down on him. 

Everything he had learned—from the Eternal Abyss to the corrupted beasts to the power of Star-Knights and Mages—had left him more confused than prepared.

'Why should I even be at the forefront?'

The thought embedded itself in his mind like a thorn. He had no memories, training, or understanding of how to fight these creatures. He didn't even know their strengths or weaknesses, much less how to survive against them. And worst of all—he was missing a hand. An overwhelming disadvantage before the battle had even begun.

His pace slowed slightly as another thought crept in.

'Wouldn't it be better to leave everything to Michelle, Richard, and the troops?'

They were the ones who stormed the castle. They were the ones who somehow seized Emberhold without his help. Indeed, they could defend it without him, too... right? For a brief moment, doubt weighed heavier than the urgency of the call to arms. Still battling with his thoughts, Edward felt something stirring.

Logic urged him to step back and allow those better prepared to confront any danger that lay ahead. He was injured, untrained, and missing a hand—a definite liability in any fight. A strategist would label him dead weight.

And yet… Beneath all the uncertainty, beneath the doubts weighing on his mind, something else pressed on. A feeling he couldn't name. A pull. An instinct. A hunger. It wasn't fear that drove him toward the unknown; it was excitement. It was subtle—buried under layers of calculation and caution—but undeniable. A thrill, an unexplainable pull toward the chaos he should be avoiding.

He knew he should be questioning this. But he didn't.

***

The night air was sharp and cold, yet Edward barely noticed it. His eyes were locked on the magnificent sight unfolding before him.

Richard stood atop an elevated platform, his battered sword piercing the wooden surface beneath him. Bathed in moonlight, he radiated a presence that felt larger than life—a figure straight out of heroic legends. There was no movement and no unnecessary gestures; his stance alone commanded the entire battlefield. An aura of absolute authority surrounded him, one that could be felt rather than seen.

The wind surged forward, howling against the stone walls, causing his gray hair to shudder and whip in all directions, adding an almost sinister weight to the image. He was an indomitable force, a warrior shaped by countless battles.

Beside him stood a familiar presence—Michelle. She was calm and poised, her green eyes scanning the troops below with a measured sharpness as if she were analyzing their souls. Unlike Richard, who exuded raw might, Michelle possessed a quieter, unshakable strength that didn't require words to be felt.

Together, they gazed down at the remnants of the Dragon Army below. Despite Richard's imposing presence, the troops barely managed to stand. Some were injured, their bodies wrapped in makeshift bandages. Others slumped over, too exhausted or wounded to hold their weapons properly. Many wore expressions of defeat, their gazes vacant and their will to fight long since shattered.

This was not an army. This was a collection of survivors.

Richard took his time, his gaze gradually sweeping over each soldier as if gauging the weight of their spirit one by one. Then, after a long, heavy silence—

He prepared to speak.

Richard stood tall, his figure illuminated by the moon's pale glow. His voice was low, steady, and incredibly deep when he spoke, resonating across the broken army like the tolling of a great war bell. Even Edward, standing farther back, felt a chill run through him.

"You all know why you are here," Richard began, his words carrying weight beyond mere sound.

"You have fought. You have bled. You have witnessed your homes burn and your families torn from you. Some of you have lost everything. And yet… you stand here."

His silvered gaze swept over the weary, battered soldiers. He took his time, allowing the silence between his words to press into their souls like iron.

"This world is changing," he continued, his tone filled with unshakable certainty. "The unknown forces of the Abyss creep forward with each passing day. They are not invaders. They are not conquerors."

His grip on his sword tightened.

"They are a poison. They seep into our land, waters, and sky—corrupting everything we have ever known. They spread Slowly and relentlessly, devouring all we once cherished."

His voice didn't rise. He didn't shout. But the rage in his tone was sharper than any battle cry.

"You have felt it, haven't you?" he pressed. "The growing darkness. The feeling that something wrong, something unnatural, is inching closer. The monsters were always here, but now…"

His eyes narrowed.

"Now they are not beasts anymore. They are slaves—puppets for something worse. And soon, if we do nothing, we will be too."

A heavy silence enveloped the air. Even the wind had quieted. But then, his voice transformed. It was deep and powerful, like a steady flame that refused to be extinguished.

"But listen to me! No matter how tough it gets or how frightening our enemies may be… we will prevail."

He took a step forward.

"As long as we believe, as long as we hold the line, as long as one man still stands with a sword in his hand, one woman still raises her shield—this world is not lost."

Some soldiers straightened. Some clenched their fists. The broken army was stirring.

"But I'm not here to fill your ears with sweet words," Richard continued, his voice darkening once more. "I know many of you don't believe in this war. You don't see the honor in dying for a cause you can't grasp. I see it in your eyes."

He let his words settle before pushing deeper, striking at their souls.

"Then fight for something else."

His gaze burned with something fierce, something undeniable.

"If not for victory, then for time."

The soldiers blinked, uncertain.

"Time for those who can stop this madness. It is time for our loved ones to flee, rebuild, and find the answer we do not have. Even if you fall, you will have mattered."

He exhaled slowly.

"You are not worthless. Your lives have meaning. Every second you stand and every moment you hold that sword, you create another heartbeat for the world. And I promise you—that is worth more than you realize."

A deep, almost sacred silence enveloped the field. Then Richard reached under his armor and pulled out a small, golden coin. Edward's eyes flickered toward it. It was ornate, ancient, and far more than mere currency.

"The Coin of Belief."

Though he didn't know its history, he would later remember this moment and call it that. When Richard spoke again, his voice was lower but heavier than before.

"If you do not believe in me," he said, "then believe in something greater."

He held up the coin, letting the moonlight glint off its polished surface.

"Believe in the gods. Trust that they have not abandoned us. And if you feel uncertain about that, I will provide you with a sign."

He lifted the coin higher, the light catching every intricate engraving along its surface.

"If this coin lands on heads," Richard said, "then the gods are not with us tonight."

He let the words settle.

"But if it lands on tails…"

His voice grew impossibly calm.

"Then the gods fight beside us."

A slow murmur spread through the soldiers. Some scoffed—was he leaving it to fate? Others held their breath, caught in something larger than logic.

And then, Richard tossed the coin into the air. For a moment, it felt as if the entire world had paused. The soldiers' eyes followed it, the golden glint spinning, rising, and turning in the moonlight. The air was still.

Then, a gentle slap of metal against the skin. Richard caught the coin in one hand, closing his fingers around it. After a while, he slowly opened his hand.

"Tails."

A single breath passed before the reaction began. Some gasped, while others fell to their knees, whispering prayers. A few wept openly. Even Edward, though he knew it was just a fifty-fifty chance statistically, felt something… reassuring settle inside him.

He couldn't explain it.

Maybe it was just luck.

Maybe it wasn't.

However, as he surveyed the scene, he noticed a transformation. Previously, there were weary eyes and vacant gazes; now, a different passion was ignited.

Hope.

The entire atmosphere shifted.

The men and women who had seemed broken beyond repair now stood taller. Their gazes sharpened. They gripped their weapons with purpose, their breathing steadying.

The coin had flipped. And with it, so had everything.

Richard raised his sword, the moonlight shimmering on its worn, battle-scarred steel. His stance remained firm, his presence larger than life—a warrior who had fought through hell and back, standing resolute before the storm.

And then, his voice roared through the night, shaking the air.

"STAND, SOLDIERS OF THE DRAGON EMPIRE!

STAND, NOT AS BROKEN MEN, BUT AS WARRIORS!

STAND FOR YOUR HOMES, FAMILIES, AND EVERYTHING THEY SEEK TO DESTROY!

STAND BECAUSE IF WE FALL HERE, THERE WILL BE NO ONE LEFT TO RISE!"

His words tore through the night, a battle hymn that clawed into the souls of every soldier present. And this time—they did not remain silent. With each passing moment, a wave of voices erupted in response, growing louder, more assertive, and fiercer. First one. Then two. Then a dozen. Then, all of them. A cry, a roar of defiance, echoing into the heavens. The enemy would hear them.

And they would know—

The once weary and broken soldiers—men and women who had nearly given up—stood taller, gripping their weapons more firmly, their gazes sharpened with purpose.

No longer just survivors clinging to life.

Now, they were soldiers again. And they were ready to fight.

The once stagnant battlefield came to life as the troops rallied behind their Hero Commander, moving with renewed energy. Orders were shouted, weapons were counted, and defensive lines were reformed. The armor was secured, shields were lifted, and swords were unsheathed.

The preparations for battle had begun.