The First Battle

Morning came like a slow, creeping thing.

The sky remained overcast, a thick layer of gray stretching endlessly above them. There was no sun. No warmth. Just the weight of a day that had arrived without truly beginning.

Rael stood at the edge of the camp, watching his soldiers prepare for war.

It should have felt chaotic—men sharpening their blades, adjusting their armor, checking supplies. But everything moved with a mechanical precision. No wasted movement. No unnecessary noise.

Like an army that had done this before.

Like a story that had already been written.

He exhaled through his nose, forcing his hands to remain steady.

Today, he was going to lead a battle he had no memory of.

And if he hesitated for even a moment, someone would notice.

Someone would start to question.

So he wouldn't hesitate.

Not yet.

---

Bale found him just before they left.

The scarred soldier held his helmet under one arm, his other hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

"The men are ready, my lord."

Rael nodded. "Good."

Bale studied him for a moment, then glanced at the distant hills. "Do you remember this battlefield?"

Rael's heart gave a sharp, panicked lurch.

Careful.

He kept his expression blank, his voice neutral. "Refresh my memory."

Bale didn't seem suspicious. "We fought here before. Not long ago. The Dominion sent scouts, we drove them back." He paused. "You killed their commander yourself."

Rael forced a slow, measured nod.

Every word Bale said was new information. Information he should have already known.

But the words slid into place so easily, so naturally, that it almost felt like he did remember.

Like the world itself was trying to convince him.

His jaw tightened.

"What else do I need to know?" he asked.

Bale smirked. "Nothing. You were victorious once, you'll be victorious again."

Rael gave a tight smile.

He didn't bother pointing out that he hadn't been victorious at all.

Because the man Bale was talking about—Lord Rael, the commander who led this army—had never existed.

Until now.

---

The march was slow.

Fog still clung to the earth, thick and suffocating, making the world feel smaller.

Rael walked at the front, beside Bale and Dain, while the rest of the soldiers moved behind them in careful, practiced formation.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

"You'd think the enemy would send scouts," Dain muttered.

"They have," Bale said. "They just haven't returned."

Dain gave him a flat look. "That's supposed to be reassuring?"

Bale's smirk was humorless. "No."

Rael remained silent.

His thoughts were elsewhere.

He was supposed to be leading this army.

But he didn't know what awaited them on the battlefield.

What if the enemy wasn't even real?

What if, the moment they arrived, the world simply… filled in the gaps?

What if the Dominion—the people they were fighting—hadn't existed until this very moment?

His fingers twitched.

The moment they crossed that hill, he would have his answer.

---

The battlefield stretched before them.

A wide, open valley, framed by jagged cliffs and rolling mist.

And waiting for them—an army.

They stood in formation on the other side of the valley, banners snapping in the wind. Their armor gleamed beneath the dull sky, their weapons drawn, their shields locked in place.

They were real.

And they had been expecting him.

Rael exhaled slowly.

There it was.

Proof.

If this war was an illusion, it was one that had been built down to the last detail.

A shadow moved on the enemy's front lines. A man stepped forward, mounted on a dark horse. He raised his sword, pointing it directly at Rael.

A challenge.

Rael didn't move.

Bale leaned in slightly. "Orders, my lord?"

Rael could feel every soldier behind him.

Watching.

Waiting.

He drew his sword.

"Advance."

---

The battle erupted like a storm breaking.

The clash of steel, the roar of men, the earth shaking beneath the weight of a hundred soldiers charging at once.

Rael moved without thinking.

His sword met flesh.

A soldier lunged at him—he stepped to the side, blade flashing, the man collapsed before he could scream.

Another came at him—he parried, drove his knee into their gut, turned, slashed.

It should have felt overwhelming.

Instead, it felt natural.

Like muscle memory.

Like instinct.

But that wasn't possible.

Was it?

He didn't have time to question it.

The battle surged around him, chaotic and endless, blood soaking into the mud. He moved through it like someone who had fought before.

Even though he hadn't.

Had he?

A sword came too fast, too close—he twisted, barely avoiding it—

His foot slipped.

A second of lost balance.

A second too long.

The soldier in front of him raised his weapon—

Then froze.

Rael barely had time to react.

The soldier's face twisted in confusion, his blade hovering mid-swing. His eyes darted to the battlefield around him.

His mouth opened.

"This… already happened."

Rael's breath caught.

The man staggered back, his sword lowering slightly. "I… I remember this battle." His eyes snapped to Rael, horrified. "But we already fought this."

Rael's pulse thundered in his ears.

His mind reeled.

Then the soldier's face blurred.

His expression melted into something empty, something hollow—

And then he wasn't there anymore.

One second, a man stood before him.

The next, the world decided he had never existed.

Rael didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Then—

Someone grabbed his arm.

Bale.

"Move," he snarled.

Rael moved.

---

The battle ended in victory.

Or at least, that was what the world decided.

Rael stood at the edge of the battlefield, watching as his men cheered, as the enemy retreated into the mist, as the bodies of the fallen littered the bloodstained earth.

His fingers trembled.

No one spoke of the soldier who had disappeared.

Because as far as they were concerned—he had never existed.

But Rael remembered.

And he wasn't the only one.

A presence at his side.

The old man.

Rael didn't turn.

"You saw it, didn't you?" he murmured.

The old man smiled. "Of course I did."

Rael exhaled slowly.

"Tell me," he said. "How many times has this war been fought?"

The old man chuckled. "As many times as it takes."

Rael's hands curled into fists.

Then, for the first time, he asked the question that had been haunting him since this all began.

"Is this real?"

The old man was silent for a long time.

Then, softly, he said—

"Does it matter?"

And Rael didn't know how to answer.