When I returned home to Nogvurot for the final time, it was with a mixture of joy and guilt. I struggled to find peace with my decision: was I deserting my brothers? Yet too much despair had begun to root, and I feared that there would be no room for love to flourish.
The choice became clear as I lay in recovery, many miles behind the front line that we lost. Ashguard was overrun. All who were able took arm against the ambush. The blade was a familiar friend in my hands, but it weighed more heavily. The smoke choked us as the garrison burned, and in the chaos I felt the deep sting of a jagged blade. It pierced deep into the fear that I had been harboring of dying in battle. Where once I would have gladly given my life for this cause, now I had something more to live for.
By some grace, or perhaps by fate, I was saved in the retreat. And as I laid in recovery, in some remote encampment in Crispvale, I knew that I did not want to die far from my family. I am at peace. I have my honor, granted by my discharge and decoration for my sacrifice, and I have my family. If one day we are to finally lose the war, Gods forbid it!, then I will face the final threat defending my home and my wife and my son.