* ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * Part 1 * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ *



I saw with my eyes

towards a distant past,

in spite of the future.





>> I was always told, an Avalonian, fights and that's all he does, he doesn't ask questions, he fights!



After that, I lived for 25 years, never questioning any of my assignments.

I didn't care!



Like all my comrades, I was a soldier in the first regiment on Avalon.

We were the elite, the excellent soldiers.

If a battle seemed hopeless anywhere, we were sent.

We fought regardless of loss. If a comrade stood in the way, there was no hesitation, a sword was passed through him.



That is why we were the elite, the selection from all of Avalon's regiments.

Because we spent a large part of our lives on the battlefield, regardless of whether we were men or women.

We weren't barbarians, we fought for what was important to us, for our principles, for our families and for the royal family.



An Avalonian obeyed when ordered by a senior.

Every order was carried out; if the death of an avalonier was decided, the avalonier did it himself.



An Avalonian was loyal, none of us would have refused an order or defied an order ... <<< br />


>> But father! << he was suddenly interrupted by his stories. His youngest son, as if stung by a tarantula, jumped up from his chair.



>> Mira's father told us about Arkastos, he said that it was his fault that Avalon almost went under! <<< br />


Arkastos, he hadn't heard this name for many years, the forbidden name! That's what it used to be called.



At that time, the royal family issued an order never to pronounce this name again.

That was also many years ago, this ban had long since been forgotten, just like what happened then.



He no longer heard the voice of his son, who still proudly told him about Arkastos and what he had learned from Holan, Mira's father.



Lost in thought, he got up, not taking notice of his youngest, who was now pestering him wildly with questions about Arkastos and his betrayal.



As if guided by an invisible force, his feet found the place he had sworn never to tread again.



It all began here and it came to an abrupt end here.



Arkastos, the leader of the first regiment, the general over the generals, his mentor,

his friend and finally his enemy.



He could still see him in the battle in which he first met him, his sword pierced one opponent after the other, always hitting its target.

On that day he became what was generally called a role model for him.



He emulated him, practicing every day with sword and fist in order to be his equal.



His comrades thought he was crazy to spend what little free time they were allowed to exercise.



But he didn't care, he had a goal and he would achieve it, albeit with great effort.



He remembered the hours and days in which he trained, regardless of whether it was rain or shine.

The pain that he only noticed too late when they were brought to a hospital.



He heard the malicious laughter of his comrades when they learned that he was not so beaten up in a battle, but rather during his "extra" training.



Grinning, they said that he himself was his most dangerous opponent and they didn't know at the time how right they should be.





He looked once more at the place, the tall trees, what a cruel and sinister story they could tell if only they had been given a mouth and the ability to use it.



They knew about everything, about every intrigue, no matter how small, and every oh-so-hideous betrayal that had led to this misery.





He didn't even notice the scent of the wildflowers, just smelled the musty, disgusting stench.

Nor did he hear the wind that swept through the leaves of the trees and bushes, only heard these screams, the whimpers, the pleading.

He no longer noticed the rays of the sun that sat down warming his body, only felt pain and sadness.





The blood ran down his body in rivers and the rain that fell on him did the same for the red liquid, mingling with it.



His armor was suddenly so heavy, constricting his chest, no part of his body that didn't hurt.



how could it get so far? You had talked it all over a thousand times, the whole thing went completely wrong.



Again and again his sword pierced one of his ex-comrades, making him groan painfully.

He knew it was wrong, but now there was nothing he could do about it.



His deadly weapon was again in the body of another, a weaker one, how long would it be before he was impaled like that?



How long before his eyes widened in pain and horror, before the vital fluid was choked out of his mouth?



Each of them could be his killer ... or his savior?



The sword in his hand was so heavy, his arm, his whole body, so tired.



Should exhaustion ultimately be his judge?



Would he die from being exhausted here on this battlefield?



Shouldn't he leave this place, littered with stinking, writhing, whimpering corpses or dying corpses?



Despair lay in each of his blows, fear in each blow, he didn't want to die yet, not here, not now, not like this.



One less enemy, one friend, one enemy.



Wasn't that Kril?



The blade of his sword was still in the now kneeling body in front of him.



Yes, it was him ...



He recognized him by his armor, only he wore this coat of arms.



Kril came from a small village somewhere in the middle of nowhere, the village community had merged for him and had this armor made for him by the blacksmith.



She was all his proud, back then, when they were all sitting around the campfire because you couldn't take it anywhere else thanks to the persistent cold, he had told him that one day his son would wear this armor.



Back when everything was different, they had laughed at him and said that someone with such a bulbous nose would never get around to fathering a child at all.He was terribly upset and almost attacked one of his comrades, the one who had laughed the loudest.



>> Faro… why…? <<



Two eyes filled with pain looked at him, only now did he notice that his sword was still stuck in the body of his friend, his ENEMY.



Carefully, he pulled out his murder tool.



A groan could be heard from the kneeling figure.



Slowly, almost in slow motion, she fell backwards onto the blood-soaked floor.



He was just about to turn away, to look for a new victim, when he heard his tortured voice again, actually just a gasp.



>> Why ...? <<< br />


>> Why ...? << These words, even if only a whisper, triggered a flood of emotions in him.



"Yes, why?"



>> You can't understand. Sleep now my friend, sleep now and read this world behind you!<<< br />


Carefully, he took the helmet off the creature lying on the ground, closed his friend's eyes and put his helmet under his right arm.



“You couldn't understand.” It crossed his mind, was it really what he had said to his dying friend who was only asking for an explanation?



Silence, it had suddenly become so quiet around him, slowly he got up, leaning on his sword, he looked around.



Nothing.



Nobody was standing anymore.



Shaking his head, he looked around.



Were all dead?



And then he realized how lightning struck him.



He looked down at himself.



There it was, the sword, it had found its way near his spine, starting at his back, through his organs, his flesh.



"Careless for a moment ..." he thought bitterly, while the guide of the sword slowly pulled it out of him again.



He felt how it was inside him, felt the coolness of the metal and also the blood that slowly began to flow from the now visible wound.



But there was no pain.



Well, he would surely come.



He turned around very slowly, the tiredness and exhaustion had now completely attacked his body, which was probably due to the high blood loss.





Gasping for air and staggering a few steps backwards, he awoke again from his daydream, or much more from his memory that had been repressed and well-protected for many years.



Cold sweat rolled down his back, still panting wildly, he tried to pull himself back.



For a brief moment, only for a few minutes, he was back on the day he was supposed to die.



Exactly here.



"Get out of here! Just get out of here!" He thought and ran for the first time in many years.Run and run and run.



Away from this place, from these thoughts, these memories.



This goddamn place, here hell had been opened for him.



On that day when friends, as comrades, brothers, fathers and sons slaughtered each other, he was allowed to take a look into the kingdom of Satan.







Even the familiar surroundings of the village in which he had settled with his family and his house,