33rd of Summer, 514 A.V.
[Military Compound]
Kol had changed.
There was something dark and twisted within him now, a depression fueled by anger and the feeling of failure. He wasn't able to save her, not in the way he should have. Kol had brought her peace, but only after she had been tormented, had been violated, had been suffering. In what way could be considered her savior? He had ended her pain, but at what cost?
Their family would never know, and it would never stop haunting him. Her eyes, once so bright with possibility, with hope of the future... They had been dulled when he found her, barely a husk of what she once was. It was then that her age became apparent. She wasn't a women, not even close. A girl, practically a child. So small, so vulnerable.
And he had killed her, or what was left of her. The feeling of his blade shoving past her ribs and into the fleshy beating of her heart... The light that had been dulled, flickered briefly in her green eyes, tears rolling down her face. She had slumped against his body, her embrace weakening and until her arms fell to her sides and Kol lowered her to the jungle floor.
"Thank you, big brother."
His chest tightened, the air suddenly becoming thicker, harder to breathe in. Kol had to stop walking, the barracks within view. He couldn't look weak, he needed to get himself together. Out of habit, a large calloused hand lifted to run through his long hair, only to come up in disappointment. His hair, which had been kept long since he was a boy was now short, a visual reminder to the pain he felt.
Kol lowered his hand slowly, pushing back his shoulders and marching forward. His jaw locked and his eyes set on his destination. A tent with a short line sat by the edge of the barracks, a sight that sparked a distant memory. It had been five years since he had first registered as a rekrut. Five years. Making his way over, Kol took his spot behind a young woman, perhaps eighteen, who chattered in excitement with the Myrian in front of her. Kol readjusted the pack on his back and dug the toe of his boot -- the same one with the akila hound bite marks -- impatiently into the dirt. One by one, the line began to dwindle, each prospective soldier going inside and coming out just a little bit prouder.
Soon it was his turn next, and he heard voices faintly within the cloth shelter asking various questions and specifics. When the female finished up, she came out of the tent with a smile that gave Kol the indication she had not experienced pain more than a punch or two at the training yards.
She would learn.
Staring at the entrance, Kol heard the order for him to enter. Pushing back the barrier to his new future, the male steeled himself. He was ready.
---
Myrian
Common
[Military Compound]
Kol had changed.
There was something dark and twisted within him now, a depression fueled by anger and the feeling of failure. He wasn't able to save her, not in the way he should have. Kol had brought her peace, but only after she had been tormented, had been violated, had been suffering. In what way could be considered her savior? He had ended her pain, but at what cost?
Their family would never know, and it would never stop haunting him. Her eyes, once so bright with possibility, with hope of the future... They had been dulled when he found her, barely a husk of what she once was. It was then that her age became apparent. She wasn't a women, not even close. A girl, practically a child. So small, so vulnerable.
And he had killed her, or what was left of her. The feeling of his blade shoving past her ribs and into the fleshy beating of her heart... The light that had been dulled, flickered briefly in her green eyes, tears rolling down her face. She had slumped against his body, her embrace weakening and until her arms fell to her sides and Kol lowered her to the jungle floor.
"Thank you, big brother."
His chest tightened, the air suddenly becoming thicker, harder to breathe in. Kol had to stop walking, the barracks within view. He couldn't look weak, he needed to get himself together. Out of habit, a large calloused hand lifted to run through his long hair, only to come up in disappointment. His hair, which had been kept long since he was a boy was now short, a visual reminder to the pain he felt.
Kol lowered his hand slowly, pushing back his shoulders and marching forward. His jaw locked and his eyes set on his destination. A tent with a short line sat by the edge of the barracks, a sight that sparked a distant memory. It had been five years since he had first registered as a rekrut. Five years. Making his way over, Kol took his spot behind a young woman, perhaps eighteen, who chattered in excitement with the Myrian in front of her. Kol readjusted the pack on his back and dug the toe of his boot -- the same one with the akila hound bite marks -- impatiently into the dirt. One by one, the line began to dwindle, each prospective soldier going inside and coming out just a little bit prouder.
Soon it was his turn next, and he heard voices faintly within the cloth shelter asking various questions and specifics. When the female finished up, she came out of the tent with a smile that gave Kol the indication she had not experienced pain more than a punch or two at the training yards.
She would learn.
Staring at the entrance, Kol heard the order for him to enter. Pushing back the barrier to his new future, the male steeled himself. He was ready.
---
Myrian
Common
