The Green Earth
Time flowed as the world wept torrential rain.
Nina began to count increasing casualties as mere numbers – that one gutted with a pincer-like arm, this one lost too much blood as his left arm got bitten off clean from his body, that third one shot on the back of the head by a bullet meant for the enemy, when months ago, what seemed like centuries to Layfon to his despondency, she would have reacted with such despair and rage that she has barely learned to control throughout his stay in Zuellini.
The wind howled sweeping scattered dusts and leaves in the morose air. The stench of blood, suffocating in its intensity, made Layfon wish for nothing more but the return of the old days, with his old captain, without the weary eyes of a dispassionate leader. Nina, who despite all her contradictions, innocent as she is fiery, selfish as she is compassionate, reckless as she is charismatic, held hope as indomitable as the sun. Layfon held few regrets in his short life; he held no regret for the dirty money he partook in for the survival of his loved ones, held no regret for leaving everything and everyone behind in Grendan, but with Nina, his stubborn apathy crumbled as Filth monsters turn to ash from the slash of his blade. May he be admonished for his self-centeredness back then, yet he cleaved to no silly notion that he alone brought such a change to her. To him, Nina was a respected captain, a very dear friend, and maybe someone even more, but for her, everyone is essential, a thought to this very moment he could not fathom, and perhaps, in his deepest subconscious, a thought he resented just a little bit.
In this humid weather, except for a few cries of pain, the silence was deafening. The battle has been won for now, though no cheers of victory could be heard; the light purple sky with the setting sun behind looked far too ominous for any such. For a year or so, he could not be certain how long exactly he's been in Zuellini, Filth monsters' attacks, mothers and children both, have become rampant, more frequent than the people here are used to. If he were back in Grendan, these attacks would have been tolerable with the aid of the rest of the Heaven's Blade, but this place is not Grendan, and any wishful thinking on his part has no place in a city that was never prepared for such carnage and lost, much less for his arrogance.
Almost a third of the front liners perished that day, discounting the people who still have not been found, yet who rescuers have slight doubts as to their survival. Nina strode a little bit ahead of him; she does not fluster over injured fellow soldiers as how a mother would, like she always used to, and the sudden remembrance gave a sharp thug to his chest, an almost there not there throbbing sensation that pulsates, giving him an unbearable urge to gasp for air, like a drowning child. In all the times he has known her, and in all the times he has known himself most of all, Nina has never ceased to care, that was something she taught him, didn't she? The realization almost made him laugh. Almost.
Treading to Nina's side, without a word, he slipped his hand through hers.