How could this happen? How did he let this happen? War. War devours without care and takes those we care about most. The swish of air and thud of her body as it hits the ground paralyzes him. Her silver hair covers her delicate features as mud stains her skin brown, but the crimson hue propels him forward. Henri’s knees sink into the soft earth, and he cradles the small frame in his arms. He sees the enemy’s arrow in her chest. Each breath shakes and comes out in wet gasps. Henri strokes her cheek, “Lily.”
Henri watches as her veins turn black; he knows it’s too late for her. He pulls the arrow from her chest, and she releases a whimper as the wound bleeds profusely. He examines the arrowhead noting the black and silver metal he’s all too familiar with, Erodimantine. The only metal that can kill his kind, and the enemy has it. His Lily, his only love, is dying, and it’s all his fault. Henri’s mind spirals, Lily’s cold soft fingers tracing his jaw to soothe him. The gentle caresses, like flower petals, usually alleviate his torment will not work this time. He takes her hand, cradling it as if it’s glass, and one wrong move will shatter it. Her blue orbs connect with his, and she smiles. How can she smile? Does she not realize what is happening?
The pain and fear are evident across his face as she whispers to him. Her words struck hard, and he could not fathom how she still felt anything for these mortals. Her eyes close, and her body goes limp. His tears drip on her cheek as rain begins to fall. A wave of emotions that he has never felt before consumes him like wildfire. He lays Lily’s body down, moving a strand of her hair from her forehead. He hears his brother approach but doesn’t move, his eyes fixed on the light of his life now extinguished. Henri’s brother speaks, but it sounds far away. He turns and looks out at the scene before him; mortals slaughter each other, and no longer is there anything distinguishing friend from foe. The sight of these mortals that came to be thanks to him and his brother James no longer registers as essential. They are like cattle, yes cattle, that is what they are. Worthless creatures begging to be slaughtered. The sounds of the battle fall silent around him, and James’ frantic pleas fall on deaf ears as Lily’s final plea echoes in Henri’s mind.
“Do not blame them, Henri. They know not what they are doing.”
He can feel the shadows gather around his form as the skies grow dark and the sounds of battle come into focus. Henri knows he cannot uphold her request; these mortals took her and will ensure they suffer for what they have done. He unleashes the shadows upon the mortals, their screams as the cold tendrils of shadow wrap around their bodies and tear at their flesh. He cuts through the remaining mortals, relishing as their blood paints the ground a muddy crimson. The pleas for mercy are unheard as they become smears on the ground, fertilizer for his shadows. A roar tears from his throat as his blade slices through a man. Henri relishes in the sound of the man as he chokes on his own blood, green eyes wide with fear. He takes his last breath, and the light leaves his eyes. Henri shoves the man off his blade and takes a breath; his shadows retreat into his body as reality sets in. His belief in humanity is no more. Only darkness remains.
