The mud of the Abyssal Border didn't look like earth anymore. It looked like rotting flesh.
It had been raining for fourteen straight days. The Kingdom's Vanguard Knights, grown men twice Eila's age and three times his size, huddled in the flooded trenches. Their heavy plate armor was rusting, and their spirits were broken. Across the desolate, ruined stretch of No Man's Land, the piercing shrieks of Abyssal hounds cut right through the rhythmic drumming of the rain. Eila was only fifteen years old.
He sat on an overturned ammunition crate, scraping a whetstone back and forth against the edge of a chipped broadsword. His armor was far too big for his thin frame. He had salvaged it from a knight who had been torn in half by a demon's claw just a week before. Eila's face was smeared with dark ash and dried blood. His bright blue eyes were hollow, worn down by a thousand hours of keeping the darkness at bay. "They're coming!" a scout screamed, tumbling down the muddy slope and splashing into the trench. "A horde! And a Goliath is leading them!". Panic erupted. Veteran soldiers wept and dropped their weapons. A Goliath was a siege-class demon. It took a hundred highly trained men just to slow one down.
They only had thirty. Eila didn't cry. He simply stood up. He didn't shout commands or try to give an inspiring speech. He strapped the oversized helmet to his head, climbed over the muddy lip of the trench, and walked out into the freezing rain.
The earth began to shake. Through the gray mist, the horde appeared. Hundreds of shadow-black hounds sprinted across the mud, their jaws snapping. Behind them towered the Goliath. It was a thirty-foot-tall monstrosity covered in thick, bone-like armor plates, its eyes burning like red coals in the storm.
Eila raised his rusted broadsword. He didn't know anything about magic theory. He couldn't recite the fancy spells that the wealthy scholars in the capital studied for decades. He only knew one thing: behind him lay three hundred miles of farmland, and behind that was the capital city.
And in the capital, was Emilia. The hounds reached him first, leaping through the air with their claws extended. Eila took a deep breath.
Suddenly, a blinding, impossible silver light erupted from his chest. It didn't just light up the dark battlefield; it was so hot that it instantly boiled the falling rain into hissing steam. The light flowed down his arms and wrapped around his rusted sword.
The Goliath roared, raising a massive, tree-sized fist to crush the tiny boy into the mud.
Eila swung his sword. A serenely fast movement in the slowed world.
A massive crescent of pure, blinding energy exploded from the blade. The shockwave tore across No Man's Land, ripping the earth apart. The charging hounds were instantly turned to ash. The wave of force slammed into the Goliath just as its fist came down. The giant demon roared in defiance, but the pressure was too immense. Its thick bone-armor shattered inward with a deafening crack, crushing its own heart.
The monstrous giant collapsed, shaking the ground one last time before lying still.
The battle was over in a single strike. Eila dropped his sword and fell to his knees in the mud. The silver light faded away, leaving the boy gasping for air, shivering, and completely exhausted.
Three weeks later, Eila was granted a forty-eight-hour leave.
When he finally reached the small, modest farmhouse on the outskirts of Oakhaven, he didn't look like the Kingdom's "Hero of the Border." He looked like a walking ghost.
He stood on the porch, hesitating. But then, the heavy wooden door flew open. "Eila!" Emilia was thirteen years old, with hair the color of light chocolate and eyes full of pure, untainted joy. She threw herself at him. She didn't care about the mud caked on his boots, the faint smell of blood, or the cold, dented armor. She just wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Eila dropped his heavy bag. His knees buckled slightly as he hugged her back, burying his face in her hair. He inhaled the scent of fresh baked bread and lavender soap. In that single moment, the war, the demons, and the freezing rain all vanished. Later that afternoon, they sat together in the fields behind their house. The sun was warm, casting a peaceful golden glow over the tall grass. Emilia was humming a soft, happy tune as her nimble fingers wove long, white lilies together. Eila lay on his back, staring up at the drifting clouds.
"The King offered me a title," Eila said quietly, his voice raspy. "A seat at the high table in the capital. They want me to lead the Vanguard permanently." Emilia paused her weaving and looked down at him. "Do you want to?", "I just want the war to end," Eila whispered, closing his eyes against the bright sun. "I just want to stay right here." Emilia smiled sadly. She leaned over and gently placed the finished crown of white lilies onto his scarred forehead.
"The blood washes off, Eila," she whispered, resting her warm hands on his pale cheeks. "You're still my brother. You're still good. And when the monsters are finally gone, you won't have to fight anymore." Eila reached up and held her small hand against his face. She was his anchor to the world. As long as Emilia was safe, he would endure any flooded trench, fight any giant demon, and bleed for any King. But what the boy in the mud didn't realize yet was that the monsters weren't just at the border.
The worst of them wore crowns of gold.