The Timeless War

“Have we met before?”

These were the words of a grinning man who climbed his way up a seemingly endless stone staircase. He was adorned with a luxurious red robe and gold jewelry that must have weighed him down a couple of pounds. His journey led him to the top of an ancient castle, the wind blowing through his well-kept blond hair. the subject of his attention was another man in front of the gray-brown clouds. It was hard to make out the features of this other man, for his whole body was splattered in crimson, aged blood. However, the robed man knew this was his target.

“Hmph, so you have come,” the bloody man replied, not nearly as amused. He was looking out from the highest tower of the castle, fixated on the battlefield below him. Thousands of corpses laid there, humans and horses alike. Most were impaled, some trampled, and others were set on fire. The smell of burnt flesh and blood couldn’t leave his nostrils, and the occasional wail of agony from the few living souls caught his ear.

“You do realize that when you kill me, the shadow of the needle will go back to where it once was?” the bloody man continued as he turned to face the robed man. “Countless people will be slaughtered once again, and you will have to watch.”

“Feeling a tinge of regret, are we?” replied the robed man as he unsheathed his sword.

The bloody man looked back down to the battlefield. “Call it what you will, but you have a choice to make. Let the enemy soldiers kill me instead, and the war will finally be over.”

The robed man walked up to him slowly. “The legacy of a king is worth far more than the blood of soldiers,” he said, then plunged his sword deep into the bloody man’s chest. With his fading eyesight, the bloody man looked at his hands one last time, his own jewelry stained black as tar. The robed man raised his leg, then delivered a powerful kick to the bloody man, making him slide effortlessly off of the blade. The blood from his chest sprayed onto not only the robed man, but also the walls of the tower as he plummeted to the ground. Finally, colliding with the battlefield, he joined the ranks of the fallen soldiers.

Satisfied, the robed man turned around. Taking in the architecture of the great castle, he noticed that at the center of the tower stood a monumental sundial. It was a large disk with markings on it, and had a tall needle in the middle. Using the position of the shadow casted by the needle and the markings on the disk, the people of this castle could tell the time of day. It was an extravagant masterpiece of artistic utility, one that even the robed man could admire. But as he was doing so, the wind picked up, and the grimy clouds started to rapidly shift westward. Along with them, the sun moved from the western horizon and further into the sky, and the shadow of the sundial moved counter-clockwise by one hour.

“So, it’s true,” the robed man said as he twisted his view to the battlefield. The corpses that blanketed the land began to move like waves. They all stood up, reinvigorated with life. Horses and men charged backwards. Flaming boulders shot out from the castle and back into their catapults, all while the stone walls repaired themselves. It all stopped with both sides in orderly formations, staring each other down. One side was at a distance, and the other closely guarding the castle. The flow of time had gone back to normal.

“Surely this time will be different,” he mumbled to himself.

The horns of the opposing army blared, and they began to charge forward. Clashing steel rang out as horses cried. Flaming boulders shot out once again, lighting up the sky, but this was a mere distraction. The robed man greatly preferred looking at his jewelry. The three golden rings on his fingers shined brilliantly off of the infernal destruction. His ruby ring represented his heart and determination. Or was it the bloodshed of the people below? His sapphire ring represented his elegance and status. Or was it despair of the families of fallen soldiers? His emerald ring represented his boldness and courage. Or was it his sickening greed?

The more he tried to focus on his possessions, the more the battlefield called to him. The sights, sounds and smells grabbed him and wouldn’t let go. He watched the defending army get wiped out, and the castle gates were stormed. The earth shook from the force of the invasion and made him fall to his knees. This carnage, was it truly worth it? What would he have to gain from this battle, even if he survived? This pit in his stomach, was it truly empathy, or just the realization of consequences? These were questions he never wanted to ask himself, but somehow knew he would eventually.

In preparation for the final slaughter, he shed his robe. The wind now grazed his exposed body. He felt naked to the world, shivering from the cold as his skin became dry. It was only a matter of time before the enemy soldiers found him; he was their last target. But there was an even worse fate that the man had to possibly contend with. Would he meet a sword of justice, or one of pride? He already knew the answer, but pretending he didn’t was his only comfort left.

Everything went silent, it seemed like there was nothing for miles. That was, until he heard footsteps echoing from within the tower. They grew louder by the second, and before long, his demons were speaking to him. At the top of the castle he cherished so much, above the bodies of men he wished he could thank, the bloody man heard the words that spelled eternal damnation.

“Have we met before?”