Dawn of the Forgotten: Wattpad Edition

Chapter 1: (Part 3) Rise of the Fallen

It was quiet, the wind blew in the distance. The cavalry waited below the hillside as a black stain in the moonlight. The entire field was wet, and the air was humid. Each commander led small groups of archers to different areas while crouching. A commander gave a signal to his group, and those in the watchtower were immediately shot down.

The arrows flew almost completely silent; a whisk in the distant air, cutting away into the black of night. The victims fell to the floorboards of each tower, but not a single eye within the hold noticed.

Three men held a torch, each lighting an arrow. Those arrows were shot, each hitting the roof of a building: the scream of a horn was called. Like a roar of a dragon, it shook the men that took rest inside the fortress: quick to wake to it. They could hear the growls of soldiers outside; incoherent, yet loud and terrifying to them. Grabbing their nearest weapons; of spears, bows, and swords: they headed out the main gate.

The archers of the King encroached the enemy sprint down the hill, a bow pointing their way from every peering eye. The arrows were pulled back.

"Fire!" Zoran ordered, swinging his hand forward with a loud voice.

One after the other, the full moon painted black, for the scream of arrows fell upon them like rain!

More and more rushed out the gate, with arrow after arrow fair to meet them. One fell, then two, then a hundred more; the shroud of death rolling down the hillside.

A second horn was called, the tune of hell to the fallen men.

"To arms!" Theodren shouted with a raised hand, a grip to a lance.

"To arms!" Armand Malrick repeated, sending their cavalry army down the slope to the disarrayed men below.

It began as footsteps, then a trout, then a gallop; a rush down the hill, a flood of raging waters.

The fortress became a blaze of hellfire, and many more began to scurry out the gates; screaming, and others burning.

Arrow after arrow set their mark into the gaps in their armor. Like cattle arriving to the slaughter, blood came rushing down the hillside. Others stumbled, trampled by a stampede of stallions and the spears of their riders. It was over.
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The fires...calmed.... The winds of the smoke...calmed.... Ashes among blood, limbs over the bodies of different people. Their skin...burned.... All that remained was the flag the rebellion brought to the world. The power of something so profound was vacant. Those memories were forgotten. In a way, it's as if I felt sorrow for them, and that the whole world sobbed at their dying breath than to cheer it finally coming to an end.... One could say that it's all over, but what about those that died? What's it to them?....The dead shall remain consumed in dust and mud, a fate for all who dwell in this terrible world....

"Still writing that little journal?" Theodren smiled as he tore the leg meat of a pheasant.

Zoran became alert, staring up to his brother who was leaning against rubble.

"Now-now, don't arm yourself. I'm not going to steal it again. I know what it means to you." He tossed the cleaned bone towards the ash piles surrounding them.

It was hard to see that golden giant, for the sky was faded in falling ash and smoke. Even the walls of the wooden fort was nothing but a whitewashed abyss, but Zoran still remained silent.

"Thinking about mother, huh?" Theodren looked down towards him, who rested on the ashen ground.

"Can't​ you just shut up for once?" Zoran stood up and punched Theodren's backside; moving him...well...nowhere really. It was like punching a rock, yet Zoran tried hiding his pain.