Ink of the Faithful, Blood of the Fallen

He sat in silence as the sun went down, the wood beneath him creaking on the few occasions that he made much of a movement. He merely sat, idly twirling his blade as he counted the breaths that moved in and out of his lungs, slowly filling his chest to capacity before flattening again.

At two hundred and forty one breaths, the truth hit him more fully than before, sickening his stomach and nearly making him shake.

At four hundred and sixty seven breaths, he was panicked, still unmoving as he was. Would he fail? Would he be forced to stand by as the beautiful city fell? Worse, would he become the villain, and not the hero? Would the soldier fall, taking some of his comrades with him?

At one thousand and nineteen breaths, the fear had ebbed. It was still there, but it had been moved behind more important things. The sickness had left him... For the time being. He was himself again, and knew that he would be able to weather the storm.

It was only a matter of how.

He could feel the angel behind him, not showing itself or speaking aloud, but offering what support it could... Which was all that was needed.

He decided to voice one of his many questions aloud. "Will I be able to save them?"

No answer. That was expected. Why should he, of all people, be told what would come to pass? Multiple potential futures, maybe... But nothing more.

After a moment he got a response. Not what he wanted, but it was something. "They have to save themselves... They have to let Him work."

The soldier sighed. Careful not to wake the others, he rose and walked to the window. The floor squeaked underneath him, but he hoped the sound fell on deaf ears. Let them sleep.

He gazed longingly at the city expanse before him, shining beautifully as the setting sun cast its light on the buildings at just the right angle.

"So blessed," he said to both himself and to the angel. "I've been offered so much... So much potential and so many possibilities. And yet I always find myself wanting what is worst for me."

The angel, unmoving behind him, said, "Others before you have made their mistakes. But still you can rise above them. Do what they did not, and do not do what they did."

The soldier sighed. "You speak of greatness, and yet I can't even save the ones closest to me... The ones I want by my side at the front line. How, then, can I help others?"

There was no movement by the spirit, but he felt its arms wrap lovingly, protectively around him. "That is not for you to know. Not yet. Perhaps you will help the ones you love, or perhaps they will be reclaimed by another."

The soldier closed his eyes. The pain, worry and sickness was threatening to encroach again. "Or else they fall, and I live life wondering if and how I could have stopped it."

There was no response from the angel. He took that as a solemn agreement.

"Do any of us even deserve grace, considering what each of us has done?"

The angel held the soldier tighter. "It wouldn't be grace if you deserved it."

"I need help. I'm dangerously close to breaking. I wasn't meant to handle this much."

"You are given precisely what you can handle, even if you do not think it at the time," replied the angel. "And you are not alone. You have Him. You have your comrades... And there will be others. Friends, partners, a lover... All in due time."

His mind raced through all the images of those closest to him. The men and women he would always live for. Fight for. Die for. Relationships of all kinds, yet none more important than the other.

He took several deep breaths, calming himself before the fear of the future overtook him. "As it was told..." he began.

"So it shall be," the angel finished. "Do you see what I see?"

A single star appeared in the darkening sky, brighter than any he had seen before. A beacon, he was sure. Leading him to something... His future? Salvation?

The shock of exhaustion hit him like a brick. He could fall asleep then and there if he wasn't sure that doing so would result in a painful fall.

There was so much to do... It was both exciting and terrifying.

But he was not alone.

And he would stand tall, victorious, with his loved ones at his side.

They would all stumble, and it was possible some would fall, but he would do everything in his power to bring them all up again... As he knew they would do for him.

Mistakes would be made, love would be lost, lives would be mourned... But as long as he lived, he would make sure that each and every one of his group would stand tall in the end.

Together.

This? This was the way it was meant to be.

As long as they all would see.