The Everlasting Request

Snow fell in silence.

It was colder than usual.

Once pure white, the snow plains were stained crimson as streams of blood etched into the snow. Broken swords lay buried beneath the frost, scattered shields that almost seemed like gravestones, and countless bodies rested as each one of them had finally drawn their final breath. The icy wind carried no voices of victory—the war left behind only silence.

This was the Great Battle of Plaetia.

The battle had ended hours ago.

Yet the smell of iron still hung in the air, refusing to fade with the cold. Tattered banners fluttered weakly in the wind; their once-proud emblems were now torn beyond recognition. Spears jutted from the frozen ground like withered trees, while abandoned helmets slowly vanished beneath the falling snow.

Victory belonged to no one.

Amid the sea of fallen bodies and countless bloodshed stood a lone knight.

His black armor was scarred beyond recognition, soaked in blood that was no longer clear whether it belonged to an ally or a foe. A worn-out sword remained clenched in his grasp, refusing to let go, revealing the pristine blade that had been chipped away from countless battles. Though he stood wary, his eyes were already those of a dead man.

Before him lay another knight.

His breathing was shallow. Blood permeated through the cracks of his battered armor as he looked up at the lone knight with a faint smile.

“… Looks like you’re the last one.”

Aire knelt beside him without uttering a single word.

The dying knight took off his necklace and gave it to the lone knight beside him.

“Live… and carry us with you”

His hand fell.

Silence once filled the battlefield.

Aire remained there, staring at the knight who drew his final breath. His gaze slowly fell on the memento the knight entrusted to him.

Unaware that those final words would become the burden he would carry for the rest of his life.

He gently closed the fallen knight’s eyes.

“… Thank you for your service.”

He walked across the battlefield.

The frozen ground was too hard to bury the dead.

So instead, Aire honored them in the only way he could.

One by one, he planted their weapons into the snow where they had fallen. A broken sword. A battered spear. A shattered shield. Before long, countless blades stood upright across the white plains, each serving as a silent gravestone for the warrior beneath.

Whenever he came across a fallen soldier whose face was still visible, he would kneel beside them and gently remove their helmet.

Some wore expressions twisted by anger, their final moments forever etched upon their faces.

Others smiled faintly, as though they had long accepted the fate awaiting them on this battlefield.

Without exception, Aire closed their eyes.

"...May your soul find peace."

He repeated those words over and over until they became little more than a whisper carried away by the winter wind.

Among the fallen were knights clad in black steel, comrades who had fought beside him until the very end.

There were also warriors draped in crimson, enemies who had crossed blades with him only hours before.

Yet to Aire, death had erased the line between friend and foe.

In the end, they had all fought for something they believed in.

They had all dreamed of returning home.

None of them ever would.

By the time he had finished, dusk began to settle over Plaetia.

The battlefield had become a graveyard.

Aire stood before the countless swords swaying beneath the chilling wind.

“I’ll carry all of you with me.”

The snow continued to fall.

Little by little, it buried the blood that stained the battlefield, covering the crimson with an endless blanket of white. It was as though the world itself wished to grant the fallen one final act of mercy.

Aire's gaze drifted across the countless swords standing beneath the evening sky.

A forest of steel.

Each blade marked a life that had come to an end.

A dream that would never be fulfilled.

A family left waiting for someone who would never return.

The cold wind swept through the field, causing the swords to sway ever so slightly, their faint metallic hum echoing across the silent plain like a final requiem for the dead.

Aire lowered his head and wrapped his fingers around the silver necklace resting against his chest.

Its weight felt unbearably heavy.

Not because of the metal...

But because of the promise it carried.

Aire let his hand fall from the necklace and cast one final glance across the battlefield.

The snow had nearly buried the crimson beneath its endless blanket of white.

Soon, no trace of the battle would remain.

The wind would erase the footprints.

The frost would absorb the blood.

The world would carry on as if the thousands who took their last breath on these plains never lived.

He faced the many swords beneath the evening sky and gradually lowered his head.

It was not the bow of a victor.

Nor that of a weakened man.

It was a farewell to the only one left to remember.

For a long while, he remained there, allowing the silence to speak where words no longer could.

Then...

He took his first step.

The snow chomped beneath his boots.

Another step followed.

Then another.

With every step, he grew farther from the battlefield

Yet its weight never lessened.

It clung to him like the bitter winter air, settling deep within his heart.

The silver necklace swayed gently against his chest.

Its cold surface brushed against his armor with every step, serving as a quiet reminder of the promise entrusted to him.

Aire never looked back.

Not because he wished to forget.

But because he believed the only way to honor those who had fallen...

...was to keep walking.

Unaware that the words spoken upon that battlefield would shape every choice he made from that day forward.

And so, beneath a sky of falling snow, the last survivor of the Great Battle of Plaetia began the journey that would one day change the fate of the world.