The fire before Erhart burned brighter than the stars of the night sky. It was the night before Werner, the leader of a band of mercenaries and sell swords, a simple guise for a band of traitors, instructed Erhardt to bring Hornburg to its very knees by striking down King Alfred, a king that stood by and did nothing while Erhardt's friends, family, were consumed by the flames of war and destruction.

There was a disturbance in the dead of the night in the outskirts of Hornburg which was nothing more than a spark of Werner's first part of his malicious plan. The band of soldiers that Werner commanded was big enough to create an army that rivaled that of Hornburg, an army that took time and plenty of bags of coin to build up. The king initially instructed a troop of soldiers to snuff the disturbance out but news of it spreading like a wildfire quickly made its way to the castle, prompting the king to send of half an army to meet them, instructing them that he would be among the other half of the army if the disturbance continued for three more days. Among those men was Erhardt's dear friend, Olberic Eisenberg.

Erhardt laughed, a bottle of ale on hand that he lifted to his lips which accepted the bitter drink to burn his throat as he drank the liquid. Olberic being just a friend was far from the truth but the other man didn't know that just yet and, perhaps, he never would until it was too late.

The thought of his equal, fighting his heart and soul out in the heat of battle, swinging his sword down on nothing more than a diversion was enough to break Erhardt's heart, who longed for Olberic to return to his side so they could just abandon everything and leave Hornburg behind.

But no matter how much the Burning Blade wished Olberic never appeared.

Erhardt sat on his bed, alone, drowning his last-second regrets and nerves with the bitter taste of a promise to forget, a promise to kiss and wash away all thoughts Erhardt was having at that very moment in the comfort of his own home. The comfort never came, however, since Erhardt was known to have a gut of steel when it came to drinking. After all these years, years of drinking contests with Olberic and their other companions, Erhardt never thought that his love of a good drink would come back to haunt him as the pleasure of forgetting never came to bless him.

He slid off the edge of the bed to the wooden floor, piles and piles of letters covering the floor of his home. Erhardt looked around, rolling his eyes at the very idea of having to pick up and reorganize the letters that he tossed onto the ground in desperation of looking for an answer to the snuff the ember of a question that scorched the remaining thoughts of his purpose as Werner's right-hand man. Even though the destruction of his hometown were just the coals that set the flames of vengeance to come alive within Erhardt, the man tried finding a reason to leave behind the deep-seated feeling in the written conversations between him and Olberic.

Prior to becoming a knight, Erhardt never wrote a letter in his life thinking that words, ideas, were better off holding onto until meeting the person face to face. Tales of lovers writing letters during times of war seemed ridiculous to Erhardt. If something happened to one of them, that was that and whatever words they wished to expressed would have to wait until the afterlife. No words, no letters would be able to breathe life back into the person long buried in the grounds of war. It's not that Erhardt was heartless, not at all, but seeing his family die around him before he could utter a shred of a goodbye hit him hard. A mask of a gentleman and a noble knight to be was what he created for those to see while the mask hid the broken spirit of what the man once was.

Everything changed when he met Olberic.

They met in the tavern the night after they were officially knighted by the king. While Erhardt, using his carefree and cheery facade to fool the other knights into trusting him, drank with the other new knights, he noticed Olberic was at a table alone. Although the blond man usually never went out of his way to introduce himself to others, as they would usually come gravitating towards him, Erhardt felt something pull him towards the man.

The blond man remembered making his way to his table and finding a seat next to the black haired man, asking him if he wasn't a fan of loud taverns.

"Nay, for I'm accustomed to it."

The man laughed, beckoning one of the servers to pour them both a drink, "Just because you're accustomed to something doesn't mean you enjoy it." Erhardt pointed at the knights. Some were wild and obnoxiously loud while the others were drinking to the point of passing out, indulging themselves in a drink that would very be their last if there was to be the break out of war the next morning. "For example, I'm accustomed to drinking around buffoons like them but I hate how they can't tolerate and control their love for liquor."

Olberic, a hand on his cheek to support himself, smiled, "A man with a love for his ale and mead?"

The server came back with two glasses of the tavern's hardest mead, "Aye, one that knows not of what the word "limit" means." The comment caused the other to laugh, Erhardt raised a questioning eyebrow, "Don't believe me?"

Olberic gripped the handle of his glass as he stared down the blond man next to him, his eyes challenging, "I've always been a firm believer of something once I've seen it."

"Oho!" Erhardt chuckled, already liking the presence of the man before him much more than the majority of people he's met during his time in Hornburg, "Is that a challenge?"

"Mayhaps."

Erhardt always loved the challenge, the taste of victory sweet and savory on his lips once he's seen his opponent fall before him. He motioned the same server again, the woman confused at how the glasses remained full but quickly realized what the situation was turning to. The two brought their glasses into the air and clanked the start of the challenge.

By the time they've drunk down their third drink, it was clear that neither of them had the intention of falling easily. The drinks kept coming, each of them happily accepting the bitter drink in the hopes that it would not be their last. The two exchanged jabs at each other, jeering that they've seen signs of weakness in the other with every passing drink, eventually losing count as time went on.

It came to a point where Olberic started laughing and giggling uncontrollably. Erhardt, on the other hand, barely broke a sweat. He smiled at the other, clearly at his tipping point, "Somethin' the matter, my friend? Is there something on my face?"

The question caused the other to erupt in a series of giggles, interrupted by frequent hiccups, "Only your teal eyes that burn brighter than any blaze the world has ever seen." Olberic seemed not to know what weight his words brought onto Erhardt, whose face turned red as a beet. The drunk man asked, "Was the matter?"

Erhardt brought his own glass to his lips, accepting every drop to make his lie more convincing, and, upon finishing, responded, "Just the mead is all."

Ever since that night, Erhardt was captivated by the man who he came to know as Olberic Eisenberg, the Unbending Blade of Hornburg and his greatest partner in battle.

The two, in the first few months of having met each other, would often find themselves sparring in the courtyards of the castle, training to prove their strength would go beyond that of the other's. Every morning swords would clash, attacks would be parried and side-stepped, the heat of their battles would consume them both until one of them shed first blood. At first, Erhardt demonstrated that he was the superior of the two, being quicker in his strikes as his blade cut the air around it. As the days grew older, Olberic began to show signs of improvement.

The day arrived when Olberic, having swung his sword close to the part where Erhardt's sword and its handle met causing Erhart to lose his grip on his blade, bested Erhardt, cutting his cheek lightly. He licked his thumb before placing it over his wound, "You've finally bested me!"

Olberic helped the other up onto his feet, feeling triumph at what he accomplished, "So I have!" The two of them were too busy advising each other on their flaws to notice that three soldiers were watching them, narrowing their eyes at Olberic. While Erhardt was held in high regard with his fellow knights, Olberic was always seen as the man most likely to die first on the battlefield.

"Oi, Erhardt!" One of them called out to the blond man, who broke their conversation, "Your blade has lost its flame! Don't tell me you're going to die alongside that sorry piece of work." The jeer at Olberic caused the other two of his companions to burst into a laughing fit.

Erhardt felt a tightness in his chest upon hearing such words. He gripped the handle of sword tight. It was feeling he hadn't felt in a very long time. A hand held him back and brought Erhardt back into reality, he realized that he drew his sword with the intent to harm. He turned back to look at Olberic, shaking his head, "Let them laugh. The one with the strongest might will prevail in the end."

If it were up to Erhardt, he would've slaughtered the men right where they laughed, never-minding the fact that he would've lost his knighthood and his privilege of being Werner's right-hand man in being the inciter in his ploy. Olberic, however, stopped him every time, "Aye."

The very next morning, war broke out.

Olberic was told to go to battle and risk his life for his liege, leaving Erhardt and some cavalrymen to defend their home turf. The king sending off his dear friend would soon become another reason why Erhardt loathed the man and feed the flames of his vengeance more. The morning Olberic was set to depart, Erhardt found himself in the courtyard. Whether driven by instinct or a need within him to see Olberic, the blond man would never know.

"You never tire of training, do you?"

Erhardt turned around to face his companion, standing proud before him. He never did learn what drove Olberic to protect his liege. The idea of protecting someone that would simply honor the deaths of fallen soldiers and townspeople in a ceremony in bulk, never caring for the individuals themselves, was enough to put a sour taste in Erhardt's mouth. His own fire for exacting revenge fueled him to gain the king's trust enough to place him in a position to murder him in cold blood once his back is turned to a sword sworn to protect him. Olberic? He couldn't guess and never did guess correctly.

Erhardt turned back away from the man, sword on hand, "I thought the battlefield called to you?" Even though Olberic brought out a part of him thought to be long dead, Erhardt would never let his guise crack, not even letting his own sentiments towards the man melt the false persona he created for himself.

"Aye, but I came to ask a favor."

"And what favor is that?"

A firm hand on Erhardt's shoulder caused him to turn back to face Olberic, who had a gentleness in his eyes. That very moment caused Erhardt's life to spin wildly beyond his own control. The questions regarding whether he would falter in his path to seek vengeance, whether he should just leave it all behind and let it burn itself down by itself, whether to retire his mask and let Olberic see him for what he truly was, it all began when Olberic asked him a simple, yet complicated favor.

"Write to me."

And write Erhardt did.

The letters lay scattered at his feet. Words that Erhardt tried finding from within himself to tell to Olberic, who often spent weeks in battle, spread all around him as he drank again from his bottle. Since both warriors were of equal strength, strength much more superior than anyone in the army or in the kingdom, they seldom went into battle together which caused the two to spend time away from each other. Whenever the two were back together, they would invite each other to a quick drink and resume with their lives of training and spending time with each other in the courtyard.

Erhardt lifted the first letter in his hand and read it to himself, remembering reading the words with a heart full of love and adoration.

Erhardt,

There was a ball today held by the royal family and, to be honest, I was at a loss for words as to what to do! There were so many people and I stood off to the side. Reminds me of the day we met actually. A few ladies of the court approached me, inviting me to dance but I couldn't disrespect them for I have two left feet! I kept thinking about what you would've done in my stead.

I hope this letter finds you well and alive,

Olberic.

Erhardt remembered exactly where he was when he received the letter. He was tasked with patrolling the borders of the kingdoms with two other guards, watching out for any enemy bandits and scouts trying to reach the kingdom. The light of the moonlight, much brighter out in the more rural areas of Hornburg, shined on the letter as he read. The two made it a habit to write in response on the back of their letters as if they were having one of their usual conversations. Erhardt turned the back of his letter to see what he wrote.

Olberic,

Sounds like you! Why, no matter how hard I tried there was no way to get you to dance without loosening your limbs! You're too much like a statue, it literally scares away women! Good, I get to keep you to myself so we can drink our nights away. Also, if I were there, I'd take off with you somewhere far away from prying eyes so we can beat each other senseless just as we did back in the day when we trained together. I long for those days to return.

I'm very much well and alive, thank you very much, otherwise I wouldn't be writing to you.

Erhardt.

Erhardt laughed remembering how jealous he had been for such women to gaze upon Olberic. It was during the earlier days where his fondness for the Unbending Blade started to blossom into adoration and love. The very feeling confused the man and plagued his nights as he had recurring thoughts of being called a traitor and rejected by Olberic. Such a love wounded him day and night every time he was with and away from Olberic, the thought of rejection pained him just as much as the idea of his emotions never reaching the other man.

The crackle of the fireplace before him was the only company that provided him comfort as such thoughts haunted Erhardt. He bent forward and reached for a letter at his feet. This one was a year more recent, a disturbance orchestrated by Werner promptedOlberic to head over and calm it down before it raged out of control. The man succeeded, much to Werner's displeasure.

Olberic,

There is no stopping you from literally leaving me behind in the dust! Has my existence been a burden to you this entire time? I have to know because it seems you never even say goodbye to me anymore! Not that I care because I'll have you know that my days are busier than ever. I've been instructed to teach some younger children how to fight and they remind me so much of how we used to be.

Don't die on me out there, you hear?

Erhardt.

Erhardt,

If it were my choice, I'd spend all my time with you but I must protect our liege and the kingdom that has brought us together. The only time you've ever been a burden at my side is when we challenge each other to a drinking contest which ends with you always being the victor! Let up and perhaps I shall rethink of you as something else. Saying goodbye is hard so don't guilt me if I don't. Besides, I prefer the phrase, "we'll meet again." Sounds something too romanticized and cheesy but it'll have to do next time I leave your side. The kids will grow up to be fine soldiers, after all they have an excellent instructor such as yourself!

I don't plan on dying just yet.

Olberic.

The more and more Erhardt wrote to Olberic, the more he fell into a hole that swallowed him in despair and doubt. The other man charmed him beyond belief, longing for his touch and the taste of his lips that was forbidden to him. From the moment Erhardt laid his eyes upon Olberic, he knew he was his but, as the days grew longer, as the secrets piled up on his shoulders, the idea grew into just a thoughtful dream. Some days he wrote he was on the brink of spilling all of his secrets, risking losing his dear friend forever, but drank them down with a few quick drinks.

The words written on the letters around him from Olberic left Erhardt breathless and senseless as he imagined a fate much different, one where the two could be together, than the one he was given. Although he initially thought of his years serving his liege as nothing more than half-lies and empty words filled with poison, meeting Olberic changed him entirely, making Erhardt lament over giving Olberic memories that he would surely remember one day as lies.

Erhardt lifted the ale again to his lips, taking a drink, and read another letter.

Erhardt,

You won't believe what I found! I've found an open field of flowers left untouched by the rage of the battle! It's truly such a blessing to see the sight, my only regret being that I was unable to share it with you. I'm coming home tomorrow so wait for me, friend, and keep my seat warm for me in the tavern.

I'll see you soon.

Olberic.

The bitter drink made its way down Erhardt's throat once more. He took another letter.

Erhardt,

I've found a casualty. A man was in my arms as he breathed his last and I couldn't do anything as I watched him die before me. Although the man was but a complete stranger, I can't help but carry a heavy heart. I've seen many men die at my blade but that man's death made me think about why I fight. I fight to protect the people that I love but what if they disappear before me? Then what shall I do?

Please don't vanish before my eyes.

Olberic.

Another quick drink, all Erhardt wanted was an answer but was only greeted by the burning sensation. The fire in his heart grew only greater with each quick gulp of the liquid. He grabbed at any letter around him, expecting an answer to his worries and despair but also expecting emptiness.

Erhardt,

They've taken away a knight's title today and was sentenced to death for treason. Apparently, he was falsely accused of murdering another knight as he slept. I suspect of it being treachery since that man was in love with the deceased but no one would hear me out. It appears to me that a handful of our so-called comrades don't take too kindly to a love between two knights bonded by might and emotion alone. It saddens me greatly as I can only stand and watch. He was an honorable man to die in such a way.

I long for your comforting words in such a situation.

I miss you.

Olberic.

The sound of an empty bottle shattering echoed throughout his home. Erhardt heard a muffled yell of a cry, slowly realizing that it was his own. He buried his face into his hands as he sobbed softly, at a loss for words or a speck of an idea of what to do as he doomed to bring down Hornburg the very next morning. The love Erhardt felt for Olberic was rooted deep within him, lying dormant for many years, but the flames of his anger towards the king, his fate in general, were slowly consuming the strong emotion that pricked his heart.

Erhardt didn't know if he was on the brink of panic over the inevitable turn of events that awaited him or if he was being driven insane over not hearing back from Olberic for two days after sending a letter that would finally put his worries to rest after so long.

Perhaps it was both? Or was it neither?

Erhardt buried his face deeper into his hands as he recalled the words he wrote toOlberic, hoping, praying even, that they would reach him.

Olberic,

I'm going to keep this short, for written words can't describe how defenseless, how senseless these strong emotions of mine have left me for the past several years.

My friend, my brother, my everything, you are the ember that ignited purpose in my life, the blaze at the center of my fiery passion. Tell me something.

Do you feel the same way?

Would you feel the same even if I harbored some dark secrets?

I want to know.

I need to know.

Yours, Erhardt.

He was a fool for sending such a letter.

He was a fool for ever hoping the other would feel the same.

There was a familiar knock at the door, a knock that usually signaled the arrival of news and correspondence from the kingdom. Erhardt quickly sprung from the disaster that he was, stumbling towards the door.

An answer finally arrived.

Olberic sat under the night sky, contemplating the weight of Erhardt's words.

The letter was certainly unexpected, this much was true, but it filled Olberic with a sense of relief and comfort. For years, Olberic admired the man that grew to become his greatest ally and friend, the letters sent between them being his favorite part of being far from his home in Hornburg. There was a strange yet romantic intimacy in writing such letters to each other as words were only meant for their eyes alone. A single moment never passed by him when he couldn't imagine Erhardt right next to him as he read each letter.

To finally know how the other felt about him filled him with such great joy despite there being something else that filled Erhardt's mind. Olberic wasn't blind. He could see the other thinking about something that was always at the tip of his tongue whenever they spoke at the tavern but always kept holding back. Whatever it was, Olberic was sure that it would never be enough to keep him apart from Erhardt.

Even though he was ordered to be at the frontline to keep back the enemy from approaching Hornburg, at least until backup arrived, Olberic couldn't wait to see Erhardt and be right by his side again.

"Oi, Olberic." The sound of one of his comrades brought him out of his thoughts. It was one of the men that once thought the Unbending Blade would break with his first taste of battle. "I never knew ye could write so well."

Olberic narrowed his eyes, recalling that he had entrusted the letter to a different solider, "Aye, how did you know?"

"The letter slipped from the lad's hands," The man explained, a strange look in his eyes, "sorry for intruding in yer personal matters but I had to give my regards to ye."

He nodded, sending off the man back to his post, "Thank you, but if you're going to just stand there then you might as well stand at your post." Olberic turned his back on the man, failing to see that there was something crumbled up in his hand.

"Yes, commander." There was an evil undertone under the man's voice. The soldier left Olberic to his own thoughts of a love now found, thoughts that prayed his words would reach Erhardt. He stuffed he crumbled up the letter into a glass bottle, put a cork on it, and tossed it into the banks of the river he passed as he made his way towards his post. The soldier did his part, a certain personal vengeance for being made a fool for being under a weakling like Olberic, as he watched as the bottled letter, Olberic's proclamation of love, made its way down the river, traveling further and further away from Hornburg.

Away from Erhardt.

Your words were best left unspoken as I feel nothing for you.

That was the only thing that read, the words written sloppily as if in a rush, on the letter, dirty with dirt and torn up, evidence that it was written in the midst of a battle, handed to Erhardt from the messenger, who also advised him to get some shut-eye before getting up early to guide the king and the rest of the troops to the outskirts of Hornburg.

Erhardt didn't reply.

When the door closed in front of him, he was left to himself and his thoughts that contained nothing but emptiness.

Erhardt gazed upon the scattered letters, the flames of hate and wrath never burning brighter within him as it did at that moment.

He knelt down to the ground, grabbing fistfuls of letters in both of his hands, staring into the fireplace.

Burn.

He tossed the letters into the fire, tears streaming down his cheeks. He grabbed more and more as the fire burned from consuming the lies that Erhardt believed for so many years.

Burn!

The fires licked the edges of the letters that were turning into nothing but dust, fuel for the fire to rage on. Erhardt, tossing every last letter into the flames, made up his mind about everything. Olberic, Werner, the plot to bring down Hornburg, his own burning vengeance, no longer was he held prisoner to his broken heart and shackled by his own doubts and worries. Never before in his life was he more sure of himself than he was in that moment.

Burn the memories of lies, memories that might have redeemed you.

The last letter in his hand left to burn was the most recent one.

Erhardt's hand trembled as he watched his hopes, his love, melt away to reveal a vulnerable yet vengeful side of himself, the only thoughts occupying his mind was that of plunging his sword into King Alfred's chest with Erhardt's only hope being that Olberic was there to watch.

Gods forbid that the man experiences the heartbreak I'm experiencing, Erhardt thought to himself, a scorching sarcasm that burned away the image of his gentle and kind-hearted friend.

He held the letter over the flame, watching the edges catch on fire, "Tomorrow, history will be made," he told himself as he watched the hope, the lies, burn away from his memory, "let future scholars wonder at the mystery of how a shattered soul, left heartbroken by a knight, caused the fall of Hornburg."

With those words, he dropped the letter and let flames swallow it whole as Erhardt was completely engulfed by the inferno deep in his heart.

I had a bit of a writer's block for the next chapter of To Find One's Purpose so I wrote a little something something for one of my favorite ship to help my block

This was SUPER DUPER inspired by Hamilton's First Burn (if you don't know that's a different version of Burn that's told from Eliza's POV as if she was directly talking to Hamilton)

Thank you guys for reading and if you liked it consider leaving a review!