Echoes of Ossian
I was sent off to war, and ironically, it was the only way I could stay alive. There was no reason to keep me alive—not to my father, not to the mercenaries, and certainly not to the world. I was nothing but a nuisance to them, a disposable piece of flesh that could be replaced at a moment's notice.
I had thought I escaped once, running through the night like a ghost, thinking I could vanish into the wilderness. But fate had different plans.
Cassian.
The very man who had thrown me into this nightmare in the first place. He had found me again—after months of evading him—and now here I was, shackled and helpless, standing before him like some twisted prize.
His presence was suffocating. He was a towering figure, cold, calculating. The man who had sold me into this war—the man who had stolen my future.
I couldn't look him in the eyes. I couldn't meet the gaze of the man who had once been my captor, who had dragged me from my life and chained me to this godforsaken cause. I looked down instead, hands bound in front of me, the weight of my own insignificance sinking in.
"I see you haven't learned how to run properly," Cassian said, his voice thick with disdain as he stepped closer, his boots grinding against the dirt. His eyes were sharp, full of malice, like he was savoring every moment of this twisted reunion.
"You… how—" My words caught in my throat. There was no way to escape, no way to fight him.
Cassian's lips curled into a grim smile. "You thought you could escape? You really thought you'd get away from your fate?" He reached out, fingers brushing against my cheek mockingly. "Your life is mine, boy. You're nothing but a tool for the war effort now. The sooner you accept that, the better."
I jerked my head away, disgust filling my veins. "I never wanted this."
He chuckled darkly, his hand falling back to his side. "Wanting won't save you. You think you have a choice? You think you're anything more than a replacement for your father? He doesn't care about you. He never did. You're just a pawn in a game too big for you to understand."
I clenched my fists, frustration building inside me. "I'm not your pawn. I'm not anyone's pawn!"
But deep down, I knew the truth. There was no escape.
The mercenaries, with their swords and armor, were already preparing for battle around me. They didn't care who I was—didn't care about my story. They had their orders: I was to fight in place of my father, who had sent me here like a discarded tool.
The battlefield was the only place I was allowed to be. It was the only place where I had a purpose.
Cassian stood in front of me, arms crossed. "This is your new life. Get used to it. You'll either learn to fight, or you'll die. You'll see what happens when you can't keep up."
His words stung, but it was the hopelessness in them that really hurt. He didn't care about my survival. He was just another piece in the system, sending me off to a war I never asked for, to die on someone else's orders.
I looked around, seeing the other soldiers, all clad in armor, preparing for battle, sharpening their sabers. The sound of metal scraping against steel made my stomach turn. This wasn't just training. This wasn't a game. This was war. A brutal, bloody fight where only the strong survived.
I was nothing here. Just a kid thrust into the hellfire because my father didn't want to get his hands dirty. He had decided it was better to sell me off than face the king's wrath. I was his solution to avoid the front lines.
But I wasn't like these soldiers. I didn't want to fight. I didn't want to kill. Yet here I was, bound, shackled, forced into this never-ending cycle of violence.
Cassian turned his back to me, walking away with that cold, mocking smile still on his lips. "Try not to die too quickly," he called over his shoulder. "We need you alive for the king."
But I wasn't sure how much longer I could stay alive. Not when everything inside me screamed that this was all for nothing.
The war raged around me, and I realized there was no way out. I had no power. I had no control. I was stuck in this life, stuck in this fate, with no hope of ever escaping.
Cassian had made sure of that.
The reality of it all hit me like a hammer to the chest. I had hoped, even briefly, that escaping Cassian's clutches would bring me freedom, but it had only delayed the inevitable. Cassian had come for me once again, and now there was no place to hide.
The mercenaries had already started to form a rough circle around us, eyes cold, faces void of sympathy. They had no idea who I was, nor did they care. I was just another body in a sea of expendable soldiers.
I stood there, motionless, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to drown me.
Anger.
Despair.
Fear.
Every one of those emotions pulsed through me in waves, but there was no outlet. No one to turn to. Just the looming shadow of war and the bitter reminder that I was bound to it.
Cassian's voice cut through my thoughts.
"You're still standing there, wasting time," he called without looking back. "If you want to live through this, you'd better start learning quickly."
I wanted to scream. To yell at him, to tell him that I didn't belong here—that I shouldn't have to fight. But the words stuck in my throat, tangled with the choking sense of helplessness that gnawed at me every moment I stood here, forced into a war I never asked for.
As the mercenaries continued to prepare for battle, I could hear the sounds of weapons being drawn, the rhythmic clink of armor, the harsh shouts of commanders barking orders.
"Look alive, boy," Cassian snapped as he finally turned to face me, his eyes narrowing. "If you don't want to die today, you'd better start moving."
I didn't move. Couldn't move. The weight of everything—the chains on my wrists, the inevitable bloodshed, the crushing reality that I was about to be sent into the fray again—kept me rooted to the spot.
"Get him moving!" Cassian barked at one of the mercenaries beside him.
A large hand grabbed my arm roughly, yanking me forward. My feet stumbled as I was dragged toward the front lines, the mercenary's grip tight and unyielding. I tried to pull away, but it was no use. His fingers dug into my flesh like iron shackles.
I could see the chaos ahead. The battlefield stretched out before me like a hellish landscape. Soldiers clashing in every direction, swords drawn, bodies falling, screams echoing across the field. The bloodshed, the violence—it was overwhelming. And I was about to be thrust into the middle of it, like a lamb led to slaughter.
As I neared the front, a voice, low and gruff, came from behind me. "I wouldn't stand still if I were you, kid. If you don't move, you'll be the first target."
I glanced back over my shoulder and saw another mercenary—a man with a scarred face and dead eyes—staring at me with little concern.
"I'm not gonna make it, I won't escape my curse..." I muttered, more to myself than to anyone else.
The scarred man laughed, a hollow, cruel sound. "No one does. You just have to decide whether you want to be the one swinging the sword, or the one getting it swung at them."
I swallowed hard, my throat dry, my heart racing. There was no comfort in his words, no hope. Only the harsh truth that I was nothing more than another weapon in a war that didn't care if I lived or died.
"Move!" The mercenary who had been holding my arm pushed me forward, and I stumbled into the fray.
The battlefield felt like a living nightmare. The sounds of metal clashing, the screams of men in agony, the rhythmic pounding of boots against blood-soaked earth—it was all too much. I couldn't focus. I couldn't think. My mind raced, but my body moved on autopilot, dragged along by the sheer force of survival instinct.
Cassian was somewhere in the chaos, watching. I knew it. I could feel his eyes on me, cold and distant, like I was just another tool. Another life to be thrown away.
I could feel the weight of his gaze, and for a moment, I wished I could escape it. I wished I could turn and run, flee into the distance and never look back.
SoIran.
I ran faster than I ever had, faster than my legs could carry me. I ran with the desperate hope that death would take me back—back before I was sold to the mercenaries, back to the days when I lived on the streets. Because back then, and only then, I was free.
For the first time, deathwasmyescape.
Cassian's blade plunged into my heart in a single, effortless movement—like taking a life meant nothing to him. And perhaps, to him, it didn't.
I smiled faintly, welcoming the abyss, praying—pleading—that this time, I would not return.
But it was pointless.
As my eyes fluttered open, the screams of war greeted me once more. Blood. Steel. Smoke.
I was right back on the battlefield.
Stillalive.Stilltrapped. Stillcursed.
I was trapped here.
The weight of it pressed down on me, suffocating, inescapable.
I wanted to fall to my knees, to surrender, to let it all end. But I couldn't. Nothere.
Not in the middle of this blood-soaked battlefield, where screams tore through the air and the scent of death clung to my skin.
Not when my body refused to break, even when my soul already had.
Not when the battle was all around me, when death was inches away with every step I took.
I was trapped.
Death was hopeless.
I had wished for it, begged for it, even ran toward it with open arms. But it never embraced me.
I was trapped.
Trapped in a cycle of war and suffering, bound to this wretched existence where death was not an end—only a cruel reset. Again and again, I fell. Again and again, I woke up, my body intact, but my soul fracturing more each time.
I wanted to drop to my knees, to give up, to finally let go. But I couldn't.Not here. Not when the world refused to release me.
"Fight, damn it!" someone screamed beside me, shoving me forward as a sword flashed by my face, narrowly missing me.
I blinked in shock, adrenaline surging through me. And then, without thinking, I lunged forward, grabbing the nearest sword that had fallen to the ground.
I had to survive.
The next few moments were a blur of movement. My body was on autopilot, swinging the sword in the direction of anyone who came too close. The world around me was reduced to nothing but blood, steel, and the terrifying sense that I was too small, too weak, to keep going.
The fear in my chest was overwhelming, but I couldn't stop. Not yet.
The battle raged on, and with each passing moment, I began to understand the truth more deeply: survival didn't come easy here. It never had. I wasn't just fighting for the king, for honor, or for some abstract cause. I was fighting for my own life, and nothing else.
And yet, I felt it again—the crushing weight of my fate.
The curse.
I couldn't escape it.