"Another battle over. Another day done."
Ricken muttered to himself before letting out a disappointed sigh. Laying down on his side from a long day of misfortune, his tired eyes focused on the small sparks dancing up and around his campfire.
"Perhaps tomorrow I'll get taller and be respected like a man."
For a few moments, he eyes witnessed the tiny life cycle of these miniature flames. It was calming to see how they floated up from the flames as if in a dance, and eventually extinguish themselves into the dark, night sky. In a short distance away, a decent sized pond seemed alive with the bugs chirping and skidding lightly across the water's surface. The sights of firelight and a bug festival may have been a joy to indulge in, but not for Ricken, not tonight. Even the normal nightly critters he'd usually play with around this time weren't anywhere to be found. Tonight just reminded him of what happened earlier that day.
A war horn blew signaling an ambush. Moments later war horns roared from all directions and cries of desperation for aid, air of any and all kinds, soon followed.
"Help! Help me! Help us! Risen! The Risen has attacked!"
The Risen, the dead bodies of fallen comrades, slain enemies and innocent bystanders brought back to life in moaning, killer state, ambushed the bulk of Chrom's army. Risen attacks weren't uncommon, but all of the past assaults were unorganized, slow and meaningless. The attacks always aimed for humans. This time, however, was completely different.
Scouts and sentries who would normally keep watch and report their findings by the hour were unusually dead silent a while after night fell. It was when the prince ordered a messenger be sent to check on their lookouts that the Risen charged all sides from the surrounding darkness. Around that time, most were in bed or were heading off to their sleep only to be either sent to their permanent rest or rudely awoken with excruciating pain ravaging their bodies. Many tents burned bright from pieces of lit campfires thrown at them. Weapons such as bows, lances and axes were mostly snapped in two. Usually Risen were weak, but this troop was stronger, calculating and precise. It made some wonder, especially Ricken, if they were somehow ordered to be precise or if something or someone was controlling them. But this wasn't the time for deliberation, it was the time for retribution.
"Hah! Take this!"
He shouted, casting as much magic as his wind tome would allow.
"And this! Die!"
Air bursts shot like arrows pierced many of the Risen's bodies. Some were decapitated, many were diced into glops of rotting flesh while others were too far away to feel even a breeze. His magic quickly depleted in no time. He retreated in rush, momentarily to restock the empty arsenal of his hands, this time with two more powerful tomes. Most of the encampment was either decimated or ablaze. He scanned his surroundings hoping to find either his tent or a nearby horseless caravan that didn't have its contents destroyed. He was in luck. He veered to the left, avoiding debris and the flames then stopped in front a damaged caravan. Though it appeared completely useless now, and most of its supplies destroyed, there was some magical elemental tomes left, brand new ones too. He quickly armed himself, one wind and one fire, and charged back into battle.
Aerial arrows, flaming spears and occasionally mixing spells did wonders fighting off the Risen. Some even started fleeing back into the cover of darkness. As time passed, the battle seemed to be going his way. Though he got glimpses of casualties, the count appeared far lower than he had feared. He was making a difference, saving lives and vanquishing the enemy. He let his guard down for a moment too long.
"Gah!"
The leader of the Risen pack had been lurking in the shadows while some of the others fled. It attacked Ricken from behind, severely wounding him in a flurry of deep slashes and bites. He tried struggling for freedom, but the undead body weighed down on him, and was relentless in its assault.
"Ah… crud… hngh..."
This… this is it…. I'm… done… Sorry… Chrom…. His vision was narrowing. Pain racked his body as blood gushed out. Death was imamate.
"I've got you!"
A familiar voice called out to him just before passing from the loss of blood. It was Chrom. Chrom charged at the Risen leader, defeating him in one powerful swing of Falchion from behind. It was poetic justice. The body evaporated into violet smoke and eventually dispersed into nothingness.
"You're alright? Rest easy now, friend."
He leaned down offering encouraging words to his injured friend. "A healer! I need a healer! Someone get a healer!"
He desperately cried out to any nearby soldiers. Ricken's eyes caved in, leaving himself up to his comrade's help, not knowing if he would live or die.
Ricken had had enough reminiscing of his failure. He got up and extinguished his campfire with the some of the pond water nearby "Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful."
He felt tears welling up in his eyes as he furiously kicked some dirty leaves away.
"No, what's pitiful is a talented and brave magician like you giving up before he has attained glory."
Ricken was dumbfounded. He didn't even have to look at who was talking to him, he knew exactly who it was. It was his hero and leader. Chrom walked over to Ricken by his side and placed his hand on Ricken's shoulder gently clasping it.
"You fought bravely today, Ricken. Licking your wounds in self-pity is normal for a child," Chrom paused for a few moments to let those words sink it.
"But-" Chrom cut him off.
"But it takes a man to wipe his tears and fight again." He whispered, patting Ricken on the back before he headed back to camp.