As he walked down the almost abandoned street, he could feel it, that swooping, unmistakeable cold that warned of foreboding and loneliness. His pace slowed, a heavy sensation caught his feet, and he stared at the windows above his head, with the heir of someone who is lost. He had walked this street many times, but never before had he felt so alone. The Sun went in behind the clouds and the birds were not singing their usual gleeful tune. Ryan thought of a funeral he had once been to, and suddenly it hit him how unnerving it would be to die alone. He felt the cold blade of death looming over him, and there was nothing he could do. It was not his life he feared for, but the feeling of regret. Ryan had never taken anything for granted, but neither had he truly taken every opportunity to discover, or to show how much he cared.
Ryan knew the end was near, death would soon cast his blow, but as the sun came back out from behind the clouds a new hope entered his mind. The one truly powerful gift a human being has is his hope, and Ryan had found his in one of the windows he had been staring at. He stopped where he was, near to the gate he had been sent to. Heart beating faster with every breath he took. He had a reason to live; his reflection still uttered the faint memory of that sparkle in his eye. Love. The destroyer of death. Ryan now understood. Furthermore he now embraced the thought of entering those gates. He still had one thing to live for, and while that remained he would fight until the end. Armed with this new weapon he passed the threshold. Bright light hit his eyes like the sun, and he almost forgot himself. Then as his vision was returning, a deep cold voice spoke.
"Tell me Ryan, have I won yet, or are you still not broken." The bitterness in the voice was soul destroying, but straightening up Ryan looked at the cruel man sitting confidently on his throne, defiance burning in his eyes. "I see, still ready to fight are we, well then, fight we will." The man took up his sword. The blade glinted in the bright light of the courtyard. How had it come to this, the war had been raging for months and there had seemed like no end, when Ryan had been caught, he had expected some more respectful death, now it seemed he would be shown up as an insignificant peasant, who had tried and failed against a much bigger force than himself. How could he have let this happen, all that he and his friends had stood for, looked like it would be washed away, by this undignified and humiliating duel he was about to face, and up until he was at the gates, had entirely expected to lose.
All his friends had been strung up on posts alive to watch their leader die. Ryan faced them and gave a smile, his eyes searched for Kerry, he had to let her know, he was not about to give up.
Out of nowhere, the first blow came, Ryan had been struck in the stomach by the flat of the blade, winded and cut he fell to one knee. His opponent circling him while he knelt, a scream filled the arena, and finally he saw her, on the far left of the prisoners. He brought his foot back up to the ground, shield raised and sword now at the ready; he would not let this tyrant take advantage of his lax of concentration. The ground shook as Ryan leapt to avoid the next blow of the sword. In retaliation he took a swing himself. The two swords clashed with a force like none Ryan had ever known before. His opponent laughed, "Not used to that now, are we."