The baby stood alone in the middle of the battlefield, not realizing where it was.
Its crying had grown weaker, not because the pain had lessened, but because hunger was beginning to overpower everything else. A one year old child does not understand war. It does not understand nations, pride, or power. It understands warmth. It understands touch. It understands the familiar scent of a mother's skin.
And none of that was here.
For miles in every direction, the land was red.
Not the red of flowers or sunset, but the heavy, dark red of blood soaked so deeply into the soil that the earth itself had changed color. Puddles lay scattered like shallow lakes. Broken blades reflected the fading light. Spears jutted from the ground at strange angles. Shields lay cracked, their emblems no longer meaningful.
The baby took a small step forward.
It was looking for something it did not know how to name.
Mother.
It walked without direction. Its tiny feet pressed into soil that had once been trampled by charging soldiers and war beasts. Its eyes, still swollen from crying, scanned the vastness ahead.
Then it lost balance and fell backward.
Its palms struck the ground. Sticky. Cold.
It did not understand what that sensation meant.
Around it were shapes.
Massive shapes.
It saw something enormous lying on its side, a creature larger than anything it had ever seen. Thick legs like pillars. A trunk curled lifelessly against the ground. Its skin wrinkled and torn.
An elephant.
But what is an elephant to a child who has never been taught the word?
To the baby, it was simply something big.
Something unmoving.
It turned its head and saw more shapes.
Long necks.
Thin legs.
Hard bodies.
Horses lay scattered across the field, their once powerful forms now silent. Armor still clung to some of them. Saddles stained dark.
And beyond them
Something even larger.
Wings.
Scales.
A body that stretched across the earth like a fallen mountain.
A dragon.
Its massive torso was pierced in several places. Its scales, once radiant perhaps, were dulled beneath layers of drying blood. One wing was half folded, the membrane torn. Its jaws hung slightly open, frozen in what might once have been a roar.
The baby stared.
But what are corpses?
How can a one year old understand death?
To the child, they were simply sleeping.
So many large creatures sleeping around it.
Why are they not moving?
Why is everything quiet?
The hunger grew sharper.
Its stomach tightened painfully. The crying returned, louder this time, desperate. It tried to stand again, wobbling on uncertain legs.
This time, as it stepped forward
Pain.
Sharp. Sudden. Blinding.
Something pierced deep into its small foot.
The child let out a scream that tore through the silence. A sharp piece of an arrowhead had lodged itself into its leg, hidden beneath the mud and blood.
The pain was unbearable. Even grown men had screamed on this field for less.
The baby fell, clutching its leg instinctively. Tears streamed down its face as it cried, waiting for arms that would lift it, for hands that would remove the source of pain.
Nothing came.
The battlefield remained silent.
No response.
No comfort.
Only wind.
The child cried until its voice began to crack. Then, in the way of living creatures who cling to survival without understanding it, its tiny fingers grasped the protruding metal.
Was it instinct?
Was it self preservation?
It pulled.
The arrowhead tore free, dragging fresh blood with it. The baby screamed again, but it did not stop. It threw the sharp piece aside and curled for a moment, trembling.
Then hunger returned.
Pain was forgotten.
Slowly, unsteadily, it rose again.
In front of it lay the massive elephant.
The baby stared up at it. Its small hands pressed against the thick skin.
What is this creature?
Why is it so big?
Is it land?
Is it sleeping?
It tried to climb.
Its hands slipped at first. The skin was rough yet soft in strange places. It dug its fingers in, using whatever strength its small body could gather. It pulled itself upward, inch by inch.
Its injured leg trembled.
Each movement caused pain, but hunger pushed it forward.
As it climbed, it noticed something.
With every step, its foot sank slightly into the flesh.
Why is it soft?
Why does the ground move?
The child paused, confused. It looked down at its hands, now stained darker.
It did not understand.
It only knew it had to move forward.
After struggling for what felt like forever to its small mind, it slid down the other side of the elephant's body.
There, it encountered another creature.
This one was different.
Harder.
Its body was leaner. Its legs thinner. Its face long.
The horse.
The baby touched it.
This one felt firmer beneath its palms.
Why is this creature different?
Why are there so many of them?
Why are they all sleeping?
It climbed again, slower this time. Its injured leg dragged slightly. It slipped once but caught itself.
On the other side, the dragon lay waiting.
Even from a distance, it was overwhelming.
Larger than the elephant.
Harder than the horse.
Covered in scales that felt cold beneath tiny fingertips.
And the same red water stained its body too.
The baby tilted its head.
What is this creature?
Why is it bigger than the others?
Why is it not moving?
Is it sleeping too?
It stepped closer, staring at the vast wing that stretched across the ground like a wall. The world around it remained silent, empty, and red.
The baby did not know it was standing in the aftermath of a war between the strongest nations alive.
It did not know millions had died for pride.
It did not know rulers had declared it a draw.
It only knew hunger.
And questions.
And a world filled with sleeping giants that would never wake again.