A/N: I know, I'm bad, starting a new one when my other ones haven't even been updated recently. But this came to mind out of nowhere today, and I had to get it out there.
Back to my actiony type of storyline! Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!
Chapter One: The Feeling of Isolation
I am a prisoner of war.
The young man blinked wearily and looked down at the cold stone floor, his dull green eyes straining to see what he had scratched in the rock. The dim light inside his cell just barely illuminated the area surrounding him, casting an eerie bluish glow on the floor.
He blinked tiredly and looked around, the chain on his ankle clanking softly on the ground. He shivered, bringing his arms close to his body to try and preserve what little bodily warmth he had left. He reached to the side and grabbed a ratty blanket off his dirty cot, pulling it around his bare torso and burying his nose in the coarse fabric.
It was winter, in the year of X791.
The young man clenched his teeth bitterly and sighed. Two years ago, he had been a soldier in the army of Fiore, a country of Earthland. Four years ago, Earthland entered a state of civil war as the countries of Pergrande and Minstrel declared war on the other, each vying to take over the world. The rest of the country was forced to choose sides, and Fiore chose Minstrel.
The young man sighed. He had been drafted into the army, and trained as a soldier. He, along with his platoon, had been touring the countryside of Iceberg, when it happened.
The ambush.
He and his men had been targeted in a small forest made up of dense trees covered in viney, leafy plants. The undergrowth was thick, and the canopy was completely opaque, only the tiniest slivers of light shining through.
When he and his men had been attacked, they were resting in a small clearing, taking a two minute water break. He had been just emptying his water flask when it began.
"Captain Fernandes," a younger man yelled, hiding next to him, sheltering behind the fallen bodies of their dead comrades.
He turned and looked at the man- a boy really- and grunted. "What is it, Sergeant?" he asked gruffly, brushing his blue hair out of his eyes.
The boy dropped his gun on the ground, his eyes full of fear. "Empty," he whispered. "No more bullets."
Captain Fernandes looked around, his eyes widening as he looked at the carnage surrounding him. He watched with wide eyes as his lieutenant, a man named Simon, was downed with a bullet to the forehead. His head jerked back, and there was a spurt of blood as the man collapsed. He was dead before he hit the ground. Behind him, a younger man named Sho fell to the ground, screaming and cursing as a bullet tore through his shoulder, another through his thigh. His screams were abruptly cut off as he took a bullet to the chest, tearing his heart apart. His scream was cut off abruptly, and he fell limply.
A man named Wally, Sergeant First Class, ran towards the tree line, a bloodcurling scream tearing past his lips. He barely made it five feet before he was torn apart by bullets. The sound of a gun, Captain Fernandes decided, was the death toll of yet another soldier.
He gritted his teeth, dodging to the side as a wave of bullets flew at him. A hiss of pain flew out of his mouth as a bullet grazed his leg, tearing his pants and carving a groove in his calf. He collapsed beside a pile of his fallen comrades and dragged himself behind them, using them as a wall. He gritted his teeth and held his leg, watching the blood drip down his skin.
"Captain!" said the same boy, the Sergeant from before. He dashed over to his captain's side, tearing a part of his inner jacket and dropping next to his injured superior.
"I'm ok," the captain whispered, gritting his teeth. The young man bandaged his wound anyway, wrapping the soft linen firmly around the wound. The captain gritted his teeth as pain washed through his body, but he forced it back. A wound like this would not hinder him.
He nodded his thanks to the young man and turned his head, peering over his fallen men. His eyes raked the forest, watching as more bullets took the lives of his comrades. He couldn't see his adversaries, but as he looked harder, he finally saw something.
He saw a glint of metal, and then, his eyes fell on what seemed to be a breastplate. As he looked closer, he was able to make out a snake curled around a sword.
The Pergrande Insignia. The most powerful country in Earthland, their enemy. The same enemy that was currently winning the war, thanks to their numbers and brute strength. Minstrel and their allies, had been forced to fight using guerrilla tactics- attacking in small numbers using the wilderness, then disappearing once they had destroyed their enemy. Just like what Captain Fernandes had been planning as they marched through the countryside of Iceberg, making their way to a town rumored to be harboring a brigade of Pergrandian soldiers.
The captain narrowed his eyes. "Pergrande, huh," he whispered. "We were played. They've got us."
As more and more of his men fell, despair settled in. This was it. They were finished.
A startled gasp and a wrenching scream jolted the blue haired man out of his thoughts, and he turned. The boy who he had just spoken with coughed, blood streaming out of his mouth and his chest. As the captain watched, the boy's chest exploded as two more rounds fired. The boy's eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed, his blood staining the earth red.
Captain Fernandes looked at his hands, ducking his head as another shot sailed over him, just narrowly missing him by an inch. His gun had only three more rounds before he too was depleted. He then would have to resort to his sword, which would be no good against a gun. He'd be dead before he made it to the trees, like Sergeant First Class Wally had found out.
He looked over at the dead boy, seeing the blank eyes, the limp hands. His heart sank. "The meaningless of war," he murmured, listening to the sounds of his comrades being murdered around him. He reached over and closed the boy's eyes with two bloody fingers, before reaching into his army coat and pulling out a white handkerchief.
He looked up and stared bleakly at the barred window several feet above him. He was able to make out a gray, cloudy sky and some tree branches, looking like skeletons in the sky. If he peered close enough, he thought he could make out white puffs floating in the air.
"Feeding time," a harsh voice said, and he looked up. A guard wearing the Pergrande insignia opened the door to his cell and threw a plate on the ground, which held a chunk of stale bread and a piece of moldy cheese. He then plopped a tin full of briny water next to it.
"Eat up."
The prisoner crawled over to the plate and gingerly picked up the piece of break, gnawing at it with his teeth. It was dusty and dry, making his throat clench and tighten. He swallowed, then coughed, hacking as the crumbly piece of food lodged in his throat.
He reached for the tin of water, only to groan when his hand missed the handle and knocked it over, sending the precious liquid racing across the floor. Desperate, he bent down and sucked up as much as he could, trying to ease the pain in his throat.
"What a pitiful sight," the guard said, looking at the prisoner with a baleful eye. He noted the ragged blue hair, the red tattoo under the right eye, and the lifeless look in the prisoner's green eyes.
"Captain Jellal Fernandes of Fiore, am I right?" the guard asked, leaning against the door frame.
The blue haired man looked up, water dripping down his chin. Warily, he nodded, the bread clenched firmly in his hands.
"So you were a soldier, am I right?" the guard said, picking at the grime under his fingernails.
"That's right," the blue haired man said. The raspiness in his voice startled him- had he really not used his voice for that long? When was the last time he talked?
He couldn't remember.
"Well it's too bad your country didn't survive the war," the guard continued, a gleeful light appearing in his malicious eyes. "Say goodbye to that worthless country."
Jellal froze. "W-What did you say?" He asked, shaking. His eyes widened, a light suddenly shining in their green depths. For a split second, life was revived back into him. But at the guard's next words, the light drained out of his eyes and he returned to his lethargic state.
"Pergrande bombed them last month. Turned Fiore into a desolate wasteland. "No Man's Land," we're calling it," the guard said, puffing his chest up proudly. He grinned sadistically down at Jellal. "Sorry, Fernandes, but your country is gone."
Jellal sat there, his eyes wide and disbelieving, while the guard laughed maniacally and exited his cell, closing the gate and locking it. He winked at Jellal before walking off, swinging his keys and whistling a foreign tune. Jellal stared blankly after him until he walked around a corner and disappeared.
My country...is gone? he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. Fiore's... been destroyed?
He thought of all his friends, his family. The people he left behind.
They were gone. Turned to dust to be scattered in the wind and forgotten.
His mouth opened, whether to scream or yell out in anger. But nothing came out. He wasn't sure if it was he was too weak to yell, or his shock just rendered him speechless.
He collapsed against the wall, his chains clanking. He looked down at his outstretched legs, his bare feet grimy and his ankles chafed raw from his shackles. There was a roaring sound in his ears, and he could hear his own heartbeat: fast and erratic. His chest, still muscular even though he was lacking in strength, food, and activity, heaved. He tried to calm his breathing, but he just couldn't help the panting breaths escaping past his lips.
His country, the country he had tried to protect, was gone. He had nothing left to go back home to- if he ever made it home, that is.
He had been held captive for so long, the very thought of being able to return home almost sounded ridiculous now. He tried holding on to the hope that he would one day be freed, but he had given up long ago.
Thinking of home, now, was futile. There was no home to think about.
He wondered about his family. Did they at least die a quick death? Or were they blasted apart into shreds by shrapnel by the bomb? Buried alive? Burned in the fires of the aftermath? Did they survive, and then get picked off by snipers Pergrande no doubt sent to get rid of any survivors?
His mother had always been a gentle woman. She was the type that would never hurt a fly- she would even save spiders and ants from his wrathful fists and bring them outside to set them free. She had protested strongly when he was drafted into the army, crying and clutching on to the lapels of his jacket the day he left. He had had to pry her fingers off his coat.
His father, on the other hand, had been a war hero when Bosco and Iceberg began to fight with eachother. He had died in combat, but when Jellal had known him, he had been a tougher, gruff man, with long blue hair and a tattoo around his right eye, like Jellal had. He had given Jellal his middle name as his own.
Jellal Siegrain Fernandes.
He had also had a sister, a beautiful little girl named Wendy. She had been a surprise, having being born when Jellal was thirteen, back when Siegrain had been alive. He had died shortly before Jellal was drafted at age eighteen.
Jellal was twenty now.
Wendy would've turned eight this year.
Jellal felt tears forming in his eyes, but he dashed them away. "No," he whispered. "No mourning for them until you know that they're dead for sure."
He had given up hope for almost everything, but he wouldn't give up on his family, not just yet. It would be the last thing he let go. If he ever got out of his prison, he'd return to Fiore and find out the truth.
He looked out the window again, his eyes narrowing as snow was suddenly swept in, swirling around and dancing in his cell. The sudden blast of cold had him reaching for his blanket, diving onto his cot and curling up into a ball. He eyed the discarded bread and cheese laying next to him with distaste. There was no way he was going to eat that. He'd rather starve.
He watched the snow drift through the air of his cell, dancing in the space and swirling around. It was almost a beautiful sight, but Jellal was filled with a cold and empty feeling.
His eyes fell to the floor, where his scratching on the rock was clearly visible.
I am a prisoner of war.