Chapter 1: Those that live on

This chapter contains death caused by war as well as death of children. None of these is described in detail, therefor I don't believe it's necessarily adult content but be warned if you are sensitive to these kinds of things. If you'd still like to read the story just stop when you get to the point where Myrin leaves the tent with a bad feeling.

Adventures should start with a bang. Or at least stories about adventures. If they don't start with a bang they'd be rather boring. And the story I'm going to tell you is anything but boring. But I'm going to have to start with something boring. Something mundane. Something you most likely would like to skip. I'm going to have to start with myself. Or to be more precise, I'm going to start this story of a boy who gathered a group of likeminded people to go on adventures ... with the story of another boy.

It was early morning. The night still had the sky full in its hands and even the morning birds were only just starting to wake up. But there was a boy who was wide awake. He had been wide awake all throughout the night. He wasn't the only one. But maybe he was one of the few who weren't kept awake by fear. And this boy's name was Myrin.

Of course Myrin wasn't without fear. But it wasn't the reason he was keeping himself awake. These few short hours just before the sun started rising were his moments of peace. He used to have a lot of those moments. But nowadays he couldn't have much more than a few hours. Myrin let out a soft sigh, falling onto no one's ears as he looked up from his hands and out over the camp in front of him. He had found a spot on a hill a little earlier. Not too far away from the camp for him to get into trouble. But also far enough away to at least pretend he wasn't here.

For a long time Myrin didn't think one person could truly hate another. Of course people could be angry. And children always shouted at their parents they hated them. But angry people calm down. And if you asked a child if they really hated their parents they'd almost always tell you that of course they don't. And so Myrin, who grew up inn a peaceful village where the biggest strife was about wether or not it will be raining tomorrow, came to believe that people couldn't truly hate another.

This believe came shattering down when his father send him to join the military. His father was a soldier. It should've been obvious he'd try and make Myrin join the military too. Especially in these times of conflict. But Myrin's mother had always believed in letting him be a child. And she was a woman who would put her foot down for convictions. And she did. Until she died. At that point, with his father serving as a soldier, there wouldn't have been anyone to take care of child of about thirteen years of age. And so the man finally got his will and sent Myrin off to the military.

And here he was now. At a military camp near the frontline of a war that Myrin never wanted to fight. And Myrin hated his father for it.

»If you keep glaring like that, that frown will get stuck on your face, Myrin.«

Another sigh escaped Myrin's lips as he looked up at the boy who had approached him. Castrin. Myrin didn't know why but this boy had apparently made it his mission to befriend him. He had never been kind to him. He made fun of Castrin's wish to serve his country. He never even once said a single nice thing to him. And yet, Castrin kept coming back to him and continued talking to him. Eventually, Myrin had given up.

»Maybe I like having a constant frown on my face. Glaring at you will come so effortless to me.«

Again. The smile on Castrin's face didn't disappear. On the contrary. It almost looked as if he was smiling even more. How could one actually be so happy?

»You know Myrin ... I don't think you should always be sitting by yourself. People get lonely. They need others. And ... the thought of someone dying while feeling lonely ... that just seems incredibly sad.«

»Maybe people should just stop dying for stupid reasons then.«

With that Myrin got up. For him that conversation was over. After all he had no plans to die for a country that never did anything for him apart from wanting to send him to his death. And Castrin didn't look much older than him. How could someone be so willing to give up their future for something as untouchable as a country. Countries could be rebuild. Lives couldn't. Once lost they stayed lost, unless you belonged to the upperclass.

He patted the dust off his clothes before starting to head back down to the camp. Castrin of course followed him. Smiling. Of course.

»You never talk about yourself, Myrin. Now that I think about you don't acutally properly talk about anything at all. The only thing I know about you is that you really hate the military.«

»What's the use in telling you anything about me? You'll bite the dust soon anyway. Oh. Forgive me. You'll serve your country and honourably sacrifice yourself.«

Myrin's words were filled with spite. They were almost literally dripping with his resent for the military. And war. And for a little while he seemed to have reached his desired goal. Castrin stayed quiet as they continued walking towards the camp. For once there was no smile on his face. Instead he looked like he was deep in thought over Myrin's words. And then, as Myrin had almost forgotten what he last said, Castrin spoke up again.

»I don't think there always needs to be a use in doing something. But if you need one ... I think it's nice to know more about your friends.«

That stopped Myrin in his tracks. He stared at the other boy, not able to comprehend or even begin to understand how and what this guy was thinking. Myrin had done everything to not get attached to people once he got here. And yet, somehow, for some reason, this boy called him a ... friend?

»Even without you actually saying anything I know that you hate being here. You didn't volunteer for military service like I did. But I don't think being spiteful or so dark is like you. And ... even if I have to die tomorrow in service of my country ... if I could make a difference with my death I'd be happy. And ... to be honest even if I say that. That thought scares me. And I think scary things are easier to handle, when you have friends with you.«

The smile came back to Castrin's face before he continues to walk, leaving a speechless Myrin behind. Myrin had always been an outsider. His sharp ears and fine facial features clearly gave away that he had a different heritage from his all too human looking parents. The village he grew up in was all too human. And Myrin was different. And different somehow always makes people group together against it. As such, Myrin never had the joy of having friends. Now he was supposed to have found his first friend here? In a military camp? In a place he despised almost more than his father?

He opened his mouth to say ... something. But before he got a chance to do anything else, alarm bells started ringing. He felt a shiver run down his spine. These bells weren't supposed to be rung here. After all, they weren't that close to the frontline. But ...

»Seems like the fight isn't going well if the frontlines are shifting that far inward ... we should get ready, Myrin.«

While Myrin was still standing half frozen, Castrin had already started moving. When Myrin finally decided to follow him and join him in the tent they shared with other soldiers, Castrin was alread almost finished. His own hands were shaking as he reached for the armour he almost never wore. Castrin patted his shoulder and gave him a small smile, saying he'd go ahead to get armed.

»Why am I even here ...«

But at this point he didn't have much of a choice. Myrin finished putting on the leather armour, fiddling with the clasps to close it much longer than he normally would have. And then he followed Castrin. The camp was in an uproar. Everyone seemed to be busying themselves with things that calmed their minds. Weapons were handed out, a few warnings given about their proper use. Myrin received a shortsword, though no one seemd to care that the boy had never been taught how to use any sort of weapon.

He tried several times to attach the sword's sheath to his side before eventually giving up, cursing at his own inability to stop shaking. He wasn't even able to take a single calm breath. Myrin began wondering if he had ever actually been scared before. If he believed so before then he definitely would change his mind now.

»Let me help.«

Without waiting for an answer, Castrin took the sword and skillfully attached it to Myrin's belt. It seemed so easy when he did it. His fingers weren't shaking. His words were clear. And there didn't seem to be any fear in his eyes.

»H...how can you be so calm?«

»I don't have any regrets. I always wanted to serve the military. And now I get to do that.«

All Myrin could do was look at the ground. He wasn't sure if he had any regrets. He didn't know what he really wanted to do. He only knew that he never wanted to serve the military.

»It's okay, Myrin. Not everyone needs to want to be a soldier. It's okay to have other desires. And ... I know you think we're all going to die but ... just stick to the commander of your unit. No one here wants to die and we'll keep eachother safe. Okay?«

»O-okay.«

»And when we get back tonight ... we'll eat tons and you can tell me all about how you grew up!«

For a moment Myrin just stared at him. And then finally, for the first time in several weeks, a small smile crept onto his face as he held up his pinky finger to Castrin.

»It's a promise.«

Castrin's eyes widened for a moment before he then grinned and linked his own pinky with Myrin's.

»Of course it is!«

This small promise of two friends sitting together to eat and talk would later turn into one of Myrin's biggest regrets.

---

When Myrin finally returned to the camp the sun had long disappeared beyond the horizon. From the original fifteen people in his unit, eleven were left. Myrin was one of them. Though this one was not the same Myrin as the one who left the camp that morning. This one's eyes were much bleaker. Deep bags under his eyes and his hunched over back seemed to age him by several years. He didn't speak to anyone. All he wanted in that moment was to fall down onto his bed and not get up again for at least the next several hours.

He returned to the tent only to find it empty. His eyes trailed over to Castrin's bed, wondering if he hasn't returned yet. But his mind was too tired, too exhausted to give that much thought. Instead he carried himself over to his bed, falling face down on it. The moment he hit the mattress his eyes fell close and he drifted off to sleep. Dreaming of a nicer world. One in which he didn't have to fight.

His dreams were ... vivid. Colourfull. And strange. They kept switching from one image to an even stranger one. And eventually settled into replicating a memory. A memory of his first night in the camp. There were a few boys his age. Most were older though. Luckily he didn't seem to find anyone who was younger than him. That night everyone had gathered in the tent in which Myrin would have to sleep. At the time he didn't know this but apparently Castrin was known to be an amazing story teller.

Myrin though rolled onto his side, his back facing the group and pretended to be asleep as Castrin started talking. He was angry, he was sulking and he definitely didn't want to be cheered up. And yet he listened. Of course he did. Fantastical stories like the one Castrin was telling had always been his favourite. Everyone was hanging onto his every word, anticipating what would happen next.

Though this dream was silent. No words came from Castrin's mouth despite his lips moving. But Myrin still remembered the images those words created. Great, mystical dungeons. Waiting with wonders never to be seen before. Magic beyond your wildest imaginations. And endless adventures awaiting you inside.

Those words let Myrin's imagination run wild. Of course he completely ignored how Castrin mentioned that they were extremely dangerous. But just the idea of living through such adventures and being able to tell stories about them...

And that's when he remembered.

»It's okay to have other desires.«

»What are my desires? What do I want?«

Adventures. Stories. Living every moment without regrets. That was his desire. He had always enjoyed listening to stories, but even more so he knew he would enjoy being able to tell such stories. Stories he had experienced himself. Of course Myrin wasn't brave enough to enter a dungeon. And by no means did he have any intention of doing so. But ... traveling sounded nice. A traveling bard who told stories of adventurers. It wasn't anything his parents would ever have approved of. But it was something he desired.

And then there was his own origin. The people who raised him, his parents, they were human. Both of them. Myrin's features though were clearly that of an elf. There was nothing human about him. He know his mother loved him and raised him with love. But he also wanted to know who gave him up. And why. Why wasn't he allowed a different live.

As his consciousness slowly returned and his eyes opened he had made his decision. He wouldn't die in military service. He would travel and tell stories of great adventures. And he would find his parents. And why they gave him up.

A smile crept onto his face though not for long as he slowly rose in response to a commotion outside. He shook his head a little to try and get rid of the remaining tiredness before lifting his body off his bed, turning towards the exit of the tent. Letting out a soft sigh he finally started moving. Not just because of his curiousity, but also because of the increasingly bad feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Castrin's empty bed.

The sight that awaited him outside wasn't one he had expected. But most likely one he should've expected. Several injured soldiers had returned from the battlefield, some barely able to carry themselves, others carrying stretchers with bodies, a piece of cloth covering their faces.

His eyes started darting around. He knew these people. Of course he had seen them at the camp before. But even more so he remembered this morning. This was Castrin's unit. Castrin had left with these soldiers this morning. Myrin felt as if his blood began to freeze, moving through the people returning to camp as if in a daze. But he couldn't find him. Castrin wasn't anywhere. The unit's commander was carried into the camp on a stretcher. Covered with a white piece of cloth that had soaked up red colour from somewhere. Colour. That is what Myrin told himself.

He must've looked as if he was going to start panicking if he hadn't already, but he was stopped by one of the soldiers who returned. He was a young boy. About his age. Myrin didn't know his name. But together with another comrade he carried one of the bodies on a stretcher. The two of them put the stretcher down. The boy didn't say anything. And it wasn't necessary to say anything. The look in their eyes said enough.

He didn't know when it happened, but suddenly Myrin found himself kneeling on the ground. His eyes looked at his legs that had supported him until a moment ago but that where now uselessly lying on the ground. And then they moved their focus onto the cloth that was covering the body on the stretcher. A hand reached out for the cloth to pull it back and Myrin realised it was his own hand.

He almost looked like he was sleeping. Like he'd wake up any moment now, say something funny and they'd all laugh it off. But ... that wouldn't happen. The dried blood that ran down from his mouth and the pale colour of his skin told a different story. A story that didn't end with Castrin waking up again.

Myrin's vision blurred and he had to blink several times to start seeing sharp again. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his own hand only to realise that they were wet. He stared at his hand for a moment before looking back at Castrin.

»You ... didn't keep your promise.«

Myrin swallowed hard but the lump in his throat didn't want to go anywhere. He knew there were others still there. And he knew he had always been told that men don't cry. But ... what is so wrong about crying when you are sad?

»You with ... your stupid smile. And your stupid attitude ... didn't you ... want to talk some more?«

He reached out to grab Castrin's collar, pulling on it, shaking him. When he raised his voice again he was almost screaming this time.

»You promised! You promised we'd eat together and talk! Who allowed you to go and die?!«

Some of the others moved to stop him but they were called back, told to give him some space for now. Myrin dropped his head on his dead comrade's chest, hiding the tears he couldn't stop form falling.

»I didn't ... get to tell you ... that I wanted to be your friend ...«

He didn't know when he stopped crying. Or when he let go of his dead friend's body. But eventually he did. And when he did he had made up his mind. He wouldn't die for this country. Or for any country. If he had to die prematurely he'd die for his friends and those he cared about. And most definitely ... he would not continue fighting in this war any longer.