‘The trenches span for thirty meters, broken up and…’ Commander Norman explains, giving us a tour of his trench system.

  To think I came here to inspect the development of our first line of defence and determine what needs to be improved or not. So far, they are exceeding my expectations. The place is clean, discipline is maintained, weapons are operational, and more. He should be proud of making a huge stretch of land a fortress. Though the defences are not optimal, that is only because he lacks manpower. A fault that is mine and not of his own.

  Built on mostly hills looking over the Galire desert, the trenches span for miles along the border. The path to the hill to the edges of the desert are covered in spike traps, drops, and semi-mottes designed to break up Dog formations. Even as I inspect the trench system, the soldiers conduct routine maintenance on the outer defences. A brilliant measure against the Dogs, who are overly reliant on tight formations.

  Between the trench system and the Galire desert is a sparsely dense forest. The idea for this placement is to have an additional method to force the Dogs to break up their formations, making themselves potentially vulnerable to a counterattack. For every ten meters of trench, there is a ballista, scorpio, or split ballista overlooking the area with at least two soldiers always manning the stationary equipment.

  Huson’s Outriders escort us to the trenches, acting as my personal bodyguards. As General of the Army, I can pick any unit to be my armed escorts. The issue is that none of the soldiers Cinaris has to offer are as competent as the men and women that make up the Outriders. It seems the colonial elements of our Empire who came to this island to improve their capabilities and to prove themselves worthy of serving the Empire are indeed the finest soldiers anyone can ask for.

  It is unfortunate they cannot be sent back home; even more unfortunate is the backlash I got from choosing them to be my guards. They will all claim that colonial soldiers are not as good as Cinari soldiers or leaders while using scripture to justify their bigotry. Absolute fools! If only they fight with them, they will understand that they are worthy warriors of the Empire. Under my command, they can fight and die for the cause without being shaken. But even if they are not soldiers, they also make for great leaders when given the chance.

  Commander of the trench lines, Norman, like Huson, is a colonial soldier who came to the island to become an officer. An elf from the colony of Rafica, he is a black middle-aged man with dark-brown hair and brown eyes. He’s cheerful and excited to give us a tour of the trench system that he and his men have spent a year perfecting. Norman scored well during his Commander’s course; there is no doubt that he will do well keeping the Dogs out when they finally decide to cross the desert.

  Satisfied with his tour, Norman escorts Huson and I into his command centre. It’s unremarkable, having only a map of the trench system and of the whole area. Granted, the fake map of the area, but useful enough to provide necessary topographical information to Norman and his command. What catches my eye is what is on the wall. On one wall near the map is a row of bells and strings attached to them, which leads to a tunnel at either end of the command centre. Under each bell is a serial number. Norman walks over to the bells, as if he is proud of the senseless decoration.

  ‘The problem with the trenches that we have to overcome is communication. After a few exercises, we figured out that if we got a message that Line Bravo is under attack, by the time the message arrives, it will already be too late.’

  Norman pulls on one of the strings twice; seconds later, a bell with the serial number J-1:9 rings back twice as well. ‘These bells span the entire trench line; the other lines can let us know if they are under attack, or if they need food, medicine, or anything else.’

  Huson crosses his arms, ‘and how do you know they need food? Ringing a bell can only tell you so much.’

  Norman clicks his fingers before he passes a piece of paper to Huson. On it is a chart that explains what the request is regarding the number of times the bell rings. Two rings will mean “check”, four rings can mean “need supplies”, etc.

  ‘It is a crude system,’ Norman admits. ‘But it works well. After a few tests, our response time improved by 20 minutes. Making the trenches capable of tackling threats at a moment’s notice.’

  I am glad I chose him to organise the first line of defences. He fought the Dogs in the South; however, he only had experience against skirmishers and scouts. He was also one of the few people who escaped the South through the desert when news of the Crystal Kingdom falling to the Dogs. Even if he doesn’t show it, I can tell he has an itch and a desire to bring the fight back to the Dogs.

  ‘What do you think, General?’

  ‘It’s remarkable!’ I answer truthfully, ‘I couldn’t have made this place better myself. This won’t just slow the Dogs down, this might even prevent them from entering the North.’

  Norman smiles to himself, acting as if that isn’t just the correct answer, but the only answer. ‘And I can assure you that we will defeat the Dogs before they reach the mainland.’

  ‘That is the idea,’ I joke, though the trench system is well-made. I doubt it will repeal the Dog attack indefinitely. The glaring flaw about this trench system is that it doesn’t have any exit and entry ways that can make for an easy exit and retreat for our forces in case they are overwhelmed. A few people can slip out, but a large force would be stuck if the situation becomes hopeless. The place is good to keep the defenders and the Dogs in place. Either Norman and his soldiers have great confidence in their trench, or they are aware of its flaw and did it on purpose. A last stand, but one that they know will come in a month or so.

  Huson turns to Norman, ‘you got sent the order that soldiers should be equipped with war hammers and that every ballista can be equipped with blunt bolts. So far, the opposite has happened here.’

  Norman shrugs, ‘hammers don’t give us good reach, and who says they are not tough enough to withstand the blow of that hammer? Even if their armour has a drawback, that doesn’t mean it will kill them.’

  ‘What about the signal bombs?’ I interject.

  ‘Those? I’ve sent them back, I don’t see any practical use for them my bells don’t already accomplish.’

  A fair point, they are highly situational as of now. Especially for his trench system, I don’t see what they will do to help him out.

  ‘Is there anything else you want to inspect?’

  ‘No, I am satisfied with what I see here. Commander Eve and Adrian are coming here to aid you. You’ll still have supreme authority over the trench line; they will answer to you. I trust you can give them roles and areas to occupy and defend. Is there anything you’ll need when I return to the capital?’ I respond to Norman, joyful at what I inspected. Everything is up to date, the soldiers are disciplined and eager, and there is nothing that is obviously flawed or can cause issues. It is indeed perfect.

  Norman shakes his head with a smile. ‘None, sir. We are happy with what we have. But please, General. Enjoy your stay and regain your strength before you leave. Even send your Outriders to rest behind the trenches. In the meantime, I'd better expect my troops.’ Norman dismisses himself from the command centre.

  I walk over to the opening of the command centre that overlooks the trenches and the forest. Huson leans on the support beam beside me. ‘You think they’ll last?’

  ‘They seem ready, but no, I don’t think they will last on their own. Though their confidence and high morale will make them formidable.’

  ‘Shit.’ Huson muffles to himself. ‘You really think the Dogs are going to be this prepared and dangerous?’

  ‘There is no reason to underestimate them again. We’ve spent a year getting ready. There is no doubt they’ll do the same. But…’

  ‘But?’ Huson raises a brow, intrigued with what I have to say. That maybe there is something to hope for, even if defeat is guaranteed.

  ‘I believe they will put up a fight. The defenders won’t end the war on their own, but they will make the Dogs regret setting foot.’

  ‘What about peace?’

  ‘What about it?’ I raise a brow.

  ‘They are self-serving beasts. If we can have a decisive win here and push them back into the desert, they might give up then and there.’

  I chuckle, ‘Rommel thought the same thing would happen at Bunker Hill.’

  ‘This isn’t Bunker Hill. The trek from the desert will be difficult and costly. I doubt they will have explored it in the first place. They know they can’t attack the North by sea, or go through the mountains, but if they lose here, they might as well give up.’

  ‘Or they will hunker down in the South, and we will invade them. They want their freedom, and they will do everything to keep it. We can’t expect them to do one thing over the other or rely on the idea that they will give up. Dogs are tough creatures to put down, tougher when driven by a singular goal.’

  ‘Okay,’ he concedes. ‘But is peace possible? Say we won a few battles and they know they are losing, and the only option is peace.’

  I never thought about it, whether it is possible to have a parley with the Dogs for peace. Can they… no, I don’t think they can. After they butcher and rape their way through the south. How can such an animalistic creature have a sense of mercy or peace?

  ‘I don’t know if it is.’ I admit.

  I’m not sure if peace can come from either side. The council will have to be unanimous in the push for peace. With how the war is going and their insistence on taking the South, I doubt they will want peace. In comparison, maybe the Dogs are far more reasonable than them. A low bar to be sure.

  ‘Then let’s hope we win this war soon and put them back into their cages.’ Huson says before he heads off.

  I nod in acknowledgement, this war needs to end as it has cost too many lives and made us a laughingstock to the world. I understand why the Dogs rebelled and fought against my people. They despised their slavery. With the horrors we’ve forced them to endure, change is needed to prevent another rebellion. They do deserve better treatment.

  However, they have proven themselves incapable of freedom. The brutality they’ve inflicted on my people is irredeemable, and I will gladly whip them back into submission. The cage is where they belong. I’ll even brand a thousand of them myself if I have to.

  But for now, we rest. Tomorrow, we’ll leave to inspect other defensive positions. I just hope they are as adequate as this.

  The world is screaming. Beast, man, woman, or child, it didn’t matter. It is all a cacophony of terror! My hands grip my hair while my back pressed against the ash-stained wall. Flames of red and orange rage through Tundo, burning wood, stone, bone, and flesh. They scream, scream, and scream! Screaming as their bodies are violated and torn apart with no end in sight. Their torment is everlasting and never-ending. By beasts I refuse to look at. I pull on my hair tighter, praying for it all to end.

  ‘Volas,’ a calm voice says to me with a warm smile. It’s Hannah, her messy red hair complementing her red dress and heels.

  I collapse to my knees to crawl to her. But no matter how far I crawl, I can never get close enough to her. I try to stand only to slip back down. My body, incapable of following my will.

  ‘No', I whimper. I need to stop it! I have to!

  Twang!

  My body freezes, my eyes firmly locked to the floor. I can’t look up! I refuse to watch it all again! My hands violently shake in a state of ungodly fear. It hurts. I bury my hands under my armpits to stop them from shaking. All it does is make my body shiver, but it is manageable.

  The click of heels rings closer. I shut my eyes before I curl into myself. Burning my head into my stomach like how a child will hide under their blanket.

  One, two, three, breath. One, two, breath. It is a nightmare! Yes, it is all in my head. It isn’t real!

  A gentle hand rests under my chin and guides my head upwards. Her calming presence soothes my troubled soul. She is cold to the touch, comforting. Without any resistance, my eyes open to reunite with the sight of her glow. Hannah… my friend….

  The bottom half of her face slowly melts away, and bits of flesh dangle from the bone. Her left eye is missing, replaced with hair-like tendrils that sway around, trying to latch onto something. Her neck slit open with black tar oozing out of the wound, and her chest burst open with her rib cage splitting outwards.

  My eyes water as my friend, a person I love. Looks down at me with a comforting smile, unbothered by the horrors inflicted on her. Her mouth opens, every word sounding like her lungs are filled with blood.

  ‘Tis okay to cry.’

  My eyes spring open and dart around my tiny bunk bed. My hands tremble as I grip my head as tight as possible, my arms locked into place as it refuses to move. My throat and lungs seize, my chest pounding with every beat of my heart. One, two, three, breath. One, two, breath.

  Eventually, I let go of my head. Between my fingers are strands of my own hair, and bits of bloodied skin. I groan as I roll around in my bed. It’s still night, and I barely slept at all. I need a walk, I can’t get back to sleep like this.

  With my jacket and boots, I walk around the trenches. Some soldiers overlook the trench or patrol the area around their campfires. None of them bothered me or acknowledged my existence.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  As I enter the command centre to regain my composure. To my surprise, Huson is already there, sitting alone, playing with a deck of cards.

  ‘Can’t sleep?’ He asks, breaking the silence.

  ‘I was about to say the same thing.’ I nod to him before heading over to the bunker’s opening.

  Looking out to the pitch darkness of the forest. Nothing lives there, no bugs chirp, no birds whistle. The place is barren of life for a forest.

  ‘I know that look.’ Huson calmly remarks.

  ‘What look?’

  Huson pauses, finding his words. ‘The nightmares.’ I turn back to him, knowing what he means. Seeing that my silence is all he needs, he continues. ‘You get the same one every time you go to sleep?’

  ‘I do,’ I whisper.

  Huson puts his cards away as he approaches me. He whispers so as not to bring attention to our conversation. ‘I know what it is like. Waking up terrified after seeing the same thing over and over again. You should get used to it after the second time, but you never do.’

  ‘How can you deal with it?’

  ‘You can’t, it is a part of you. The best you can do is live with it.’

  No, there has to be a way to stop the nightmares. I can’t dream the same thing every time, see the same face, hear the same words. I’ll go mad eventually. I need to stop it.

  ‘There has to be…’

  ‘There isn’t any.’ Huson interrupts me before taking a deep breath. To him, it is the same song and dance. A pain that he is too familiar with. ‘They say, when soldiers survive a battle they should’ve died in. The Gods swapped their hearts with those who should’ve lived. It is why we have the same dreams, that we panic when we smell something familiar. They say that once we leave the military, our hearts will force our minds to be back into service. To fight a war that should’ve ended.’

  ‘We’re cursed?’

  ‘Yes… we have a soldier’s heart. It is what makes us warriors. It isn't the glory, the battle, or the awards. It is the burden we survivors must carry. The worst part about it all is the Gods won’t hear our cries, and they won’t give us our hearts back.’

  I frown. What is the point of existence if we have to suffer like this? Maybe that is why our Empire was founded, to be the ones to carry this pain. ‘When did you have your first nightmare?’

  ‘It’s best not to ask, nor should you tell me yours.’

  ‘So we must keep quiet about it?’

  ‘Always.’ Huson replies with regret in his tone. ‘Our pain is our own burden to bear. I just want to prepare you for it.’

  So that is who I am now? A broken wreck. I feel like a clock that is ticking down to my eventual expiration. What will my parents think of me? A son who has their heart swapped by the Gods! I should’ve died that day; Hannah could still be alive, but she took that arrow, an arrow meant for me. I have her heart… I stole her heart.

  ‘Know anyone else with…’ I tap the place where my heart will be.

  ‘A few.’

  ‘How do they live with it?’

  ‘Most don’t.’ Huson admits casually, ‘most of them would rather kill themselves than deal with the pain. And I can see why they do that, sometimes the thought crosses my mind.’

  ‘Will that always be our eventuality? Are we just destined to die, one way or the other?’

  ‘None of us were meant to be alive. Why will it matter if the Gods care if we take matters into our own hands?’

  I have nothing left to say. I shouldn’t ask that question. If most chose to take their own life, how can I be any different? I only fought in two battles, and I wasn’t on the front lines. Yet I feel pathetic. I’m so weak that I broke after one loss. Huson fought multiple battles, lost dozens of friends, killed many, and yet he is doing better than I am. Generals before me have fought in wars that engulfed the planet, and they came out on top. I only fought on a small island. It is my home, but my suffering is so small in comparison. My heart wasn’t just swapped. I am also weak.

  Ding!

  Huson and I face the bells.

  Ding! Ding!

  In unison, multiple bells start to ring frantically. The bell tower rings, signalling everyone to wake up and get into stations.

  ‘Stand-to!’ A soldier shouts.

  Norman rushes into the Command Centre already in uniform. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ He shouts, only to stare blankly as every bell is ringing. ‘By the Gods.’ He mumbles to himself.

  I walk towards him. ‘Commander Norman, status report…’

  Huson tackles me to the ground as miniature bolts fly over us. Punching through wooden beams like it is paper. Huson and I keep to the ground immediately as the first wave of bolts flies into our position. Norman isn’t lucky as his corpse is nailed to the wall, the back of his skull caved in, while brain matter drips out in a pool of red slime.

  We are under attack! I stand up to look out of the trench, peeking over the safety of cover. ‘Advance!’ One Dog orders a small squad of soldiers, all wielding a handheld ballista.

  There have to be hundreds of Dogs, not in their usual rigid formations, but broken up into smaller contingents of ten soldiers. Where the first row fires their bolts, the second row advances and takes over the first while they ready their next shot. Even with the traps and obstacles in the way, it doesn’t have its intended effect. They are not slowing down.

  This trench line should be able to hold off for days, weeks even! Enough time to make us all prepared. But they are making easy progress like it is nothing. We will be lucky to hold it for a few hours.

  ‘General! What do we do?’ Norman’s Troop Sergeant asks, his uniform already soaked with blood.

  ‘Huson and I will need to escape and warn the others. I need you and your men to hold the line for as long as possible. Keep the Dogs back and slow them down!’

  ‘Will we be given a chance to retreat?’ He says as another volley of bolts flies over us.

  I pull him close to me to give him some cover to relay their last order. ‘Hold the line! Never surrender, never falter! If they push through now, we are as good as dead, and the North will fall soon after.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’ They say as they rush off to command the remaining soldiers.

  I did it, I’ve sent them to their deaths. But we have no other choice if this line collapses in a few hours. Every Commander will be unprepared to combat the Dogs; we need to spread the news of their new weapon.

  Huson unsheathes his sword and picks me up to begin our escape. ‘We have to get the other Outriders.’ I shout.

  ‘They will be at the stables!’ He replies, his eyes darting around for any Dog threat. I pull out my war hammer. I might not be good with it. Hell, I was never trained on how to use it. I fucking hope to the Gods this can kill a Dog like Jarad said it will.

  Soldiers on ballistas fire away at the advancing horde, only periodically taking cover to not get shot at in return. Archers freely launch their arrows at the Dogs while the ballistas load their bolts. To illuminate the dark field, the archers launch fire baskets. Though the fire arrow will only stay alight for a few seconds, we see them. Thousands of Dogs are encroaching on our position and eager for battle.

  Huson and I run through the trenches and past soldiers while they rush to their stations. Earth and wooden splinters spew from the trench as the bolt ricochets or crashes through the defences. Whatever those weapons are, they are effective, having enough force to punch through armour like it is nothing and nailing the soldier to the wall behind them or tearing their limbs off from their bodies. How did they come up with the device in such a short period of time?

  A Dog jumps into the trench in front of me. Their hand-held ballista has a knife at the end of it, which they use to skewer a Cinari soldier in front of them through the stomach. Huson makes quick work of the Dog as he slices the Dog’s jugular with his sword, spilling its blood all over his uniform and face.

  More Dog’s enter the trench, locking themselves in a brutal melee with the defenders. Imperial blades clash with brutish metal, releasing sparks that shine as bright as stars.

  I drop my hammer to pick up the strange ballista. Its heavy frame is made with mostly iron and dark wood while also having a bolt holder of sorts on the top. We need to study this weapon if we have a chance to win against them.

  ‘We need to move!’ Huson shouts at me, urging me to run with him.

  Bolting alongside him, it seems the Dogs are more than prepared for this operation. They didn’t just scout and probe us to see where they could enter the North. They made new weapons, created new strategies, and they are as driven as ever. We are not prepared, by the Gods, this is like the South again.

  In the distance, a Dog appears over the hill in front of us. ‘Move!’ I order Huson to jump out of the way so I can aim the ballista. Four of my fingers wrap around the trigger, and with all of my strength, I manage to pull and fire the bolt at them. The Dog howls in pain, dropping their gear while they hold on to the right side of their abdomen. They are not alone; their buddies drag the Dog out of the battlefield and into safety. I guess I prevented an altercation with them.

  We continue our run till we arrive at the stables. The Outriders glare at us in confusion while they huddle around the fire. Some have their weapons at the ready, but are unsure if we are under attack or if it was a training exercise.

  ‘What is going on?’ One soldier says.

  Huson rushes to them, shouting and flailing his arms. ‘We are getting the fuck out of here! The Dogs are attacking and the trenches are about to collapse.’

  In a panic, the Outriders went to their horses to prepare for our escape out of there. Dropping everything and jolting their comrades awake.

  I turn back to face where the trenches are. Shouts and clashes echo in the distance. It is a slaughter over there, and we have already lost. Four thousand soldiers are there, defending against potentially tens of thousands of Dogs. I can’t retreat to the palace now! We need to stall them for a bit longer.

  ‘Regali!’ Huson says to me, grabbing my attention. ‘What are your orders?’

  ‘We need to slow them down, stall them for as long as possible. I’ll need some of your men to head off to all of our forts. I need Eve and Adrian to return to their previous post and to defend their lands. Everyone else needs to know of the Dog’s arrival.’

  ‘And how do we keep the Dogs here?’

  We can’t fight them; that is already lost. In Tundo and The Crossing, there is something they all have in common. It is that the Dogs will like to talk. Regardless, they mostly do it to gloat, but I can use that to my advantage. I won’t just slow them down. I can also lay out the rules of engagement. It is a risk, but I have to do it to buy some time.

  ‘We can’t hold the trench, and the place is going to fall under enemy hands. Send one of your men to the Dogs. Relay a message that I want to talk to their leader to discuss the rules of engagement.’

  Huson nods as he hops on his horse before he throws his sword to the ground.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I shout.

  Huson pulls out his white handkerchief. ‘I’m not sending my men off to possibly die, I’ll do it myself.’

  ‘I need you alive, Huson! I won’t risk my second in command.’

  ‘I’ll be fine!’ Huson declares as they ride their horse to the trenches. By the Gods, he better survive. In the meantime, I’ll write up my orders, and I’ll warn every nearby commander of the threat that just arrived. One will also need to go to Jarad to examine the Dog's new weapon.

  Gods, this is it. The start of an invasion, the beginning of a new chapter of this war. The council believes they won’t come, that they won’t survive the desert. Well, here they are now. A threat we can’t ignore, a crisis that is present and laughing at us. The Dogs are marching into our lands. Gods help us all.