Guardiana
by
Troy Davitt
I am standing at the gates of Guardiana, the small city I’ve called home my whole life. All around me is flame and ruin, buildings crumbling to the ground that I used to be able to navigate through and around even with my eyes closed. The terrain has changed; an earthquake has upheaved the land and buildings have moved as if Giants came through and pushed the buildings around like rearranging furniture. Trees and walls have fallen all around paths that have always been clear, and cobblestones that have been smoothed over by decades of travel now stick up like roots dedicated to trip up a distracted traveler. Flame licks up from every place I look. What should be a clear day has turned to a dark night as the smoke blocks the sun like a theater curtain. Everything is enveloped in a red-orange glow from the fire, illuminating the carnage in a mystic aura. Barely a living soul is around. My eyes follow the rubble across the ground to a wounded soldier leaning against the tavern outer wall, who weakly beckons me over. I hunch down over him and see blood pooling on the ground underneath him. It travels through cracks in the cobblestone towards me, and I try to ignore the nagging thought in my brain to not let it touch me. The soldier whispers weakly that Kane and his army came through and attacked his way through to the castle. They had come through so quickly, the guards hadn’t had a chance to set up defenses. Dozens of Dark Mages, Lizardmen, Giant Bats, Skeletons, and Goblins swarmed the city, leaving nothing in their wake. Men I had seen look so brave with their polished armor and sharpened arms now lay dead, torn asunder; their pristine armor covered in dirt, soot, blood, and residual magic. Through the tears flowing from my eyes that come from the thought of my brother Kane still being alive, I thank the soldier for his service to King and Country as he takes his last rattled breaths. I hold his hand and feel his tightened grip slowly loosen, then go limp along with the rest of his body. I stand up and my small group of allies looks at me with sadness and fear. Lowe makes a motion to speak, but I then see him retract his hand and take a step back. Gort utters vulgar superlatives under his breath, and Gong holds his talisman in his hands and begins to pray. The others stand behind me, I cannot see them yet I can imagine the expressions on their faces. We stand motionless, knowing that we must make our way to the castle at once, but the destruction of all we hold dear is overpowering. Corpses lay strewn across the paths, and the fact none are those of the enemy makes it all the more heart-wrenching. Our eyes water both from the power of the emotion and from the dry, burning air; tears are absorbed almost instantly by the soot we are covered in, staining our normally bright clothes a dull and muted gray. I see the crimson blood of the dead soldier on my hands when I look down. It is the same color of the banners that hung from all the guard towers that now lay as rubble. I am not afraid, and think not of the future, yet stand like a statue. The shock and pain envelopes my soul and makes it hard to stand straight. The sounds of crackling flames and the wailing of the injured melt in the heat into an amorphous droning of immense proportions. Everything around me seems to drown out into smoke as I stare ahead blankly, unable to move. I am unsure if I even wish to.