SIXTH BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴.
Xanthiene Vivenca has to find allies and legendary objects of po...
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2412, Diori 21, Kindreth
Reeca sat astride a paulsare, the lump on her throat since yesterday reminding her of the fact she wasn't ready for the battle. Rhys's death hovered over her like a doom cloud, telling her that she would only lose people from here on out.
She didn't sleep even though today was an important day in terms of offense and defense. She barely listened to Geradine and Elred's briefings early in the morning. She barely listened to anyone at all.
For the first time, Reeca acknowledged the growing emotion at the pit of her stomach to be something she dreaded feeling all her life—fear.
What an ugly emotion it was. It made her stomach clench harder than she was used to. Sweat beaded at her temples and matted her scalp. Her throat constricted; her saliva seemingly dried up magically overnight. Her heart quaked in her chest, fighting to get out and escape. She wanted to run, to follow every instinct telling her to get out of the battlefield while she still could.
It's taking everything in her to stay seated on her paulsare. For the first time, Reeca realized that this must be what the soldiers were feeling ever since the war started. They already lost someone in this war and Reeca had been too blind to acknowledge that. It had taken her her brother's death to make her understand that leadership required empathy. Empathy, itself, required being vulnerable.
Weak.
Reeca used to scoff at that word her father used to describe her. She was an heir who couldn't weave through intangible trails as skillfully as her mother. She was tagged as the weaker heir and would always be compared to her brother. For a long time, she resented him for that. But now...
It's funny how death could change one's entire perspective of the people around oneself.
Reeca sighed and eyed the looming horizon. Soldiers dressed in black formed a straight line, divided into six platoons, all armed to the teeth with flintlocks, bombs, swords, daggers, and their own failing magic. She looked back at the people behind her and saw only blank stares and shaking hands. Compared to the incoming horde to invade the fortress, there were a few soldiers with her.
Too few, in fact.
She pulled the reins of her paulsare and turned her steed to face the soldiers from Penleth. "Soldiers," she began. Her voice came out squeaky. Heat rushed to her face before she cleared her throat. "Soldiers," she tried again but louder and fuller. "We are gathered here to fight, to give our lives in the upcoming conflict about to head our way. Before, I was asked about what I was fighting for all this time. I wasn't able to give an answer back then because I, myself, don't know."
Reeca glanced at Geradine and Elred, both astride their own paulsaris. Both looked at her like she had gone insane. Maybe she did at some point last night. She turned to the soldiers again. A war horn sounded somewhere behind her.
