Chapter 1

 

Ethan waited for death to claim him. His only wish now was to sit at the table with his ancestors in celebration, away from the immense pain that overwhelmed his body and mind. He no longer knew how long he had been lying on the bed paralysed and in isolation. In his current state of semi-consciousness, the war where he had secured his fatal wounds seemed so far away in time. He hadn't expected the battle to end in his demise.

A good week before the battle, he had felt confident. He had been in good health and he had felt strong of body and mind. Strategy had been put in place; it should have been an easy fight and win. They had outnumbered the enemy, and he knew, as the head of his tribe, that his men were well skilled and that they hungered for the win. But things had not gone to plan. He had woken up on the day of the battle not feeling quite himself. He had felt weak, his limbs not responding as quickly as they usually did to his commands. His mind had felt hazy.

He had not let the negative change in him deter him from the battle. He was his people's leader; he could not show any hesitation or weakness. It would put the enemy at an advantage, to expose a weak spot to them, and he did not want to bring concern to his people who were eager for the kill and to bring glory to their land.

So he had rode out with his men, fully armoured, starting the war-cry as he clashed with the enemy again and again. At first, he thought he would be fine and would be able to preserve his energy until the end. He drew swords with man after man, successfully bringing them to the ground. But his movements started to become sluggish, his mind was not able to comprehend each adversary's movements quick enough to react with killer blows. It was thus only a matter of time until a fatal blow was struck against him and he fell to the ground.