On the battlefield, the smoke had begun to settle. Men gathered the remains of what was left of their comrades—bodies stacked in heaps, eyes wide open, frozen in terror at the sight of death. Michael wiped the dried blood from his forehead, the butt of a sledgehammer having nearly blinded him during the battle. He needed to find the warlock before anyone else did.
Pushing through his men, who were alive thanks to the catastrophic power of the warlock, Michael's steps were careful, his boots sinking into the mud soaked with blood. They had lost only twenty men—an unfathomable number compared to the nearly thirty thousand they had slain. God's mercy, some said. Others questioned how they could fight so valiantly if they truly desired to meet their Creator. but it was all due to the warlocks timely arrival any of them had managed to survive.
Samuel, light-hearted as ever, waved his long arm and called out, "Zadarrah!"
The warlock didn't turn, his towering figure standing apart from the carnage. Michael hearing his brothers call frowned, quickening his pace to catch up.
Samuel's humor grated on him, especially now, surrounded by corpses and death.
"God truly had a plan when He crafted you with these gifts," Samuel joked, eyeing the warlock's stark white hair, untouched by the grime of battle. "If others had your power, they'd be baking bread with magic instead of fighting wars!"
Michael who had caught up to both men didn't laugh. He barely acknowledged Samuel's words, his attention fixed on the warlock, who, despite the carnage around him, looked as if he hadn't fought the same war.
"Gather the men," Michael ordered. "We must return before dawn. There are graves to dig before we return."
—-
Back at the encampment, Cleo worked swiftly, her hands stained red as she treated the wounded. She knew the anatomy of a persons body better than most physicians twice her age. her fingers deft as she stitched flesh back together and sawed off shattered limbs. There was little poppy milk left, but she refused to let a man forfeit his life for lack of comfort.
The water ran red as she bathed, the blood of the fallen swirling around her. Though her body did not bleed, she felt their pain deeply. a reminder It was a weight she carried alone, a burden her brothers could never understand.
When Samuel and Michael returned, it had been nearly two years since Cleo last saw them. Samuel rushed forward, lifting her off her feet with a grin, his hair longer now, brushing past his ears. Michael, as always, lingered behind, his eyes hard as he assessed her. "You look… well," he muttered, his voice rough as he forced the words out. His hug was brief, awkward, his hands pushing her away before he turned and walked off, leaving her standing there, a warm smile on her lips.