The Last Entry

(CW: wartime themes)

***

Die 25 Martii 1950– Sriboznya, Provincia Orientalis

Everything went precisely as planned.

Operation Gannet was a success. Thanks to our Avian unit, the eastern province is now under our control. This is truly a historic day for the Aeftherian Empire.

The men outside are drinking the night away, celebrating their victory. Our egotistical winged friends joined in the fun as well. I could not recall the last time they celebrated this joyfully. They truly are a prideful bunch. As for me, I chose to maintain my soberness.

Orders from High Command were received an hour ago. We were assigned to locate and eliminate the remaining resistance in the region. I have spoken to other centuriones. Their units have started to take action in their respective provinces.

My unit will begin the task tomorrow. After seven months of hardship, they deserved the rest and drinks tonight.

Just a week left to return to our homeland, to you, my beloved Ariella. My heart is strengthened because of you. My patience to have you in my arms grows thinner.

Soon, our love will be forged once again.

***

Tridyus then pulled back the tent flap. His hands were holding two cups, steam rising gently from each.

“Alone time with the journal, I see?” He chuckled, stepping inside the tent.

Aryius made a small sound– somewhere between acknowledgement and dismissal. His gaze was fixed to his journal.

“Well, the men asked about you. It’s victory night and their centurio sits alone, with his thoughts.” Tridyus extended a cup to his commanding officer.

“Someone must stay sharp.” Aryius’ tone was soft, yet carried responsibility.

“Even so.” Tridyus set the cup beside his open journal with a quiet smile. “One cup will not dull your edge, sir.”

Aryius gazed at him briefly. Two years that man had served beside him. He was reliable. Perhaps the most reliable in his unit. He silently sighed, setting his quill down.

“One cup,” he said.

“To the empire,” Tridyus smiled, raising his cup.

Aryius lifted his. “To the empire.”

The warmth of it settled quietly. Outside, the men broke into song, singing with such passion. Tridyus smiled, said his farewell and took leave. Aryius allowed himself to simply exist in the quiet of it– the victory, the nearness of home, the thought of Ariella.

He was unaware that Tridyus glanced at his journal before he left.

***

Die 27 Martii 1950– Sriboznya, Provincia Orientalis

Two days of engagement. The resistance was more spread than anticipated.

Some were in uniform, others were not. Farmers, tradesmen, ordinary men who picked up weapons and aimed at us. They fought back. We retaliated. That’s the nature of war.

The engagements were brief but repetitive. Village after village. Different faces wearing different expressions of the same desperation. I do have to commend their wits to fight back. They just don’t see the bigger picture, what they could gain from our great empire.

I filed my reports as ordered. Resistance eliminated. Province secured. Clean words for ugly days I suppose.

I found myself staring at one of the prisoners afterwards– a civilian, middle aged, his arms amputated. A working man who chose the wrong side of a losing battle. Or perhaps, he felt he had no other choice.

Five days remained. Ariella, I think of you more than I should out here. You’re the light tower of my ship, sailing through the dark ocean. The plans I stored for us when I returned will be one to remember for a lifetime. And I cannot wait for your “surprise” you kept since I departed.

***

A new order arrived at midnight.

Aryius read it twice. A village– Biyello Jezer, two kilometers north. High command had marked it as a resistance stronghold. Bombard and overrun.

He recalled scouting that village personally a week ago. What he found was a market square, fishermen boats and children playing near a well. No uniforms. No weapons cache. Nothing.

He set the order down. His face expressed doubt.

“Centurio.” Tridyus appeared at his shoulder, having already read the order. “The units are on standby, waiting on your word.”

“I scouted that village, Tridyus.” Aryius said quietly. “There were no fighters there. Only civilians. Families.”

“Circumstances change.” Tridyus’ tone was cold and simple, as though it were obvious. “Resistance relocate. They hide among people. High Command has intelligence we do not.”

“Or... they do not.”

A pause flowed through them. Tridyus met his eyes steadily. “Sir…we follow orders. That’s our duty. Your duty. That is what we always done.”

Aryius went silent for a long moment. Outside the tent, his unit was already prepared.

He then took a long breath and be the centurio he was.

“Move out.”

***

Die 28 Martii 1950– Sriboznya, Provincia Orientalis

The Avian unit executed the bombardment at dawn. I observed it from the ridge, along with my unit. The description of the spectacle among the men varied. Beautiful. Impressive. Horrifying. Hellfire. To me, it was a mistake. A peaceful village, near a lake, perfected by nature, destroyed in an instant.

We moved in to sweep the village afterwards.

The resistance presence was minimal. Seven, perhaps nine fighters among the rubble. The rest were not soldiers. Charred bodies everywhere. Men and women frozen where they fell. The smaller ones, scattered among them like broken things.

I could not bring myself to write the word. I just could not.

Some of the men were horrified by the aftermath. I too feel the same way as they did. The intelligence from High Command was inaccurate. I’m starting to question their orders and decisions.

Regardless, I file the report as usual. Resistance eliminated. Village cleared. The same clean words for the ugly truth.

Four days left, Ariella. My mind is slowly numbing. I find myself wondering what kind of man will return to you. To be honest, I am no longer certain I know.

***

His eyes opened, he was at Biyello Jezer, covered in flames and charred bodies. The screams of the innocent surrounded him. Then, through the fire, he saw her.

Ariella.

Standing in the market square, still among the dead. She turned slowly, her eyes found his across the distance. The whistling of ordinance falling grew louder.

She smiled as the bombardment took her.

Aryius woke up with a gasp, clutching at nothing. The tent was dark and quiet. He sat at the edge of his cot for a long time. He reached for her picture and held it tightly.

“It was only a dream, Aryius.”

Morning rose, his thoughts still lingered on the dream. The picture of Ariella rested between his fingers. He had not written his report yet. He was not sure he could.

The world was silent around him when the tent flap opened.

An avian officer filled the entrance. Heavily armoured, his wings were folded but massive, brushing both sides of the tent. He did not introduce himself. Officers of that rank rarely did.

He placed a sealed letter on the desk. “Certain eyes only, Centurio.” His voice was low, deliberate. “High command.”

Then, he was gone. Aryius stared at the seal for a moment before he broke it open.

His breath left him. His hands began to tremble– slowly at first, then beyond his control. He read the words again, and again. As if repetition would change what they said.

He sat for a long time in silence. The order in one hand, Ariella’s picture in the other. He had no words. For the first time in his career, he had absolutely no words.

***

Die 29 Martii 1950– Sriboznya, Provincia Orientalis

I will write exactly as it was written to me. So that I am not mistaken. So that I know what I read was real.

“By order of High Command, all remaining descendants of Provincia Orientalis– including children of any age– currently held at the Temporary Displacement Camp, three kilometres from the Astengyrnian border, are to be eliminated without exception. This order is classified and mandatory. Noncompliance is treason.

To our great empire.”

Without exception.

I have followed every order given to me. I believed, without question, that the empire was worth the cost of serving. I watched my men die beside me and told myself it meant something. I told myself that was duty.

I told myself many things.

But CHILDREN? THEY WANT US TO KILL CHILDREN?! UNARMED AND CONFINED. POSING NO THREAT. SIMPLY THE WRONG BLOOD AT THE WRONG MOMENT OF HISTORY.

This is no longer war. Whatever name High Command has chosen for it, I KNOW it is not war.

I DID NOT FIGHT FOR THIS! MY MEN DID NOT FIGHT FOR THIS! I DID NOT SPEND MONTHS AWAY FROM ARIELLA AND EVERYTHING THAT MATTERS FOR THIS!

Just three days left to return but I cannot stand idly by. I do not want to return to Ariella as a monster. This madness MUST BE CEASED!

***

Aryius stepped outside. “Gather the men.”

They assembled in silence. He then recited the order from memory. Every. Last. Word. The ambience silenced as if time was stopped. The younger soldiers exchanged glances. A veteran stared at the ground, jaw tight. Others were quiet and observant.

“With all due respect, centurio. We simply won’t do it” A soldier said quietly.

Aryius looked at each of them. “I know... and we will not.” He paused. “the camp is three kilometres southeast. We move at dusk And we get them out to the Astengyrnian border before dawn.”

Fear was visible on every face. But beneath it, something held its shape.

They were still men.

Tridyus stood behind Aryius. He had not moved since the order was recited. He did not nod. He did not speak. He said nothing.

The camp was worse than the reports described. Rows of civilians huddled behind barbed wire, unfed, unwashed, hollow-eyed. Some had stopped looking up when soldiers approached, as if they knew the cost of it.

The unit was split into two; Tridyus and his group entered the camp in formation, distracting the officers and soldiers while Aryius’s group broke into the rear, and rescue the civilians.

Aryius moved through them quietly, his men fanning out to loosen the fence. That was when he saw her– a small girl sitting apart from the others, her leg wrapped in a torn piece of old cloth stained in old blood. She gazed at him with eyes too tired for her age.

He knelt beside her, unwrapping the old cloth. He then replaced it with a clean bandage from his field kit, tight but gentle. The girl didn’t flinch, only watched his hands.

“Brave girl.” He said quietly.

The civilians began moving through the gaps in the fencing. Almost orderly and calm.

Suddenly, the sirens split the air.

Gunfire erupted from the west. Steels clashed. Imperial voices shouted orders. Aryius was on his feet instantly. He and his men forming a loose perimeter around the group.

“Move! Now! Stay together!”

Smoke rose from the direction Tridyus had gone. Then, someone pointed skyward. Avian units descended from the north and west, wings spread in perfect formation.

Aryius felt the cold hard truth before anyone spoke it. They knew.

“Run for the forest! Move to the border, do not stop!” He roared with no time to spare.

The group rushed into the treeline. Branches tore at them. Children stumbled. His men dragged the fallen back to their feet.

The ambush came from both sides. Imperial soldiers rose from undergrowth and opened fire without hesitation.

His men fell one by one. For every step towards the border, two more were lost. Civilians fell beside soldiers. Children fell beside civilians.

Then, he heard it– a small cry behind him.

The girl. She had fallen, her bandaged leg finally giving out. He immediately swept her up, pressed her against his chest and kept running. Gunfire cracked through the trees.

The border was close– but not close enough. He counted what remained. Four civilians. Four of his men. The girl in his arms.

He set the girl down carefully on her good leg and crouched in front of her.

“L-Listen to me,” his tone was steady, yet breathless. “You run that way. You don’t stop. You don’t hide. You run. Understand?”

He reached into his coat for the journal and placed it on her hands. “Keep this safe,” he said. “Can you do that?” she clutched it tightly, as he clutched Ariella’s picture.

Aryius rose. “To the border,” he told the others. “GO!”

He turned back and faced the soldiers. He fired until the rifle emptied. He the drew his sword and fought like a man who had already given everything away. All to give the remaining survivors time.

He was unaware of the soldier behind him. The rifle stock struck his head. The forest tilted. His sword arm dropped. Then… darkness.

Time passed as he woke up. His wrists were chained behind him. Around him sat the last of his men, bloodied and silent. There was nothing left to say. Tridyus and his group sat apart, also chained.

The Avian officer, who handed the order to Aryius landed before them. He surveyed the line of chained men with an expression that was not anger. It was something worse.

Disappointment. Disgust.

“You brought shame to the empire,” he said.

Aryius lifted his head. “What happened here will not be forgotten.”

The officer scoffed by those words. “History is written by the victors.” He said quietly, his hands clasped behind his back. “I commend your conviction, centurio. Truly. But this ends with you.”

He stepped back.

“Rise, my loyal imperialists. Step forth and claim your share.” The sound reached him– chains shifting, boots on dirt. He turned

His own men rose, one by one crossed to the other side. Faces he fought beside. None met his eyes. Then, Tridyus stood and walked past without a word.

“Not you too.” he spoke in disbelief.

Their shackles were removed. Rifles placed in their hands. Those loyal to Aryius were brought forward next.

One by one, they were executed. He knew their names. Their faces. Which ones had families waiting. He watched until there were none left.

The rifles turned towards him. Tridyus stood beside the Avian officer, still not looking. Aryius stood straight. Shoulders back. Eyes open. The way a soldier stands. The way a man stands.

In the quiet before the order, something surfaced in him uninvited.

Ariella in the garden, seated among the early spring flowers. Her smile– that specific smile she kept only for him, warm and private. And her hand. Moving discreetly, tenderly across the soft curve of her belly.

He remembered teasing her for that secretive smile.

“You’ll know when you return, love,” she had said.

The hand on her belly.

Oh.

A single tear traced down his face, through the dirt and dried blood.

“FIRE!”

The forest swallowed the sound. Tridyus finally gazed at his centurio, lay dead on the ground, with his eyes opened.

“To the empire.” his tone was cold as ever.

One year later.

The cradle moved gently beneath Ariella’s hand. The child slept peacefully, small chest rising and falling, unbothered by the world.

Ariella’s eyes then drifted to the her husband’s portrait. Straight-backed in uniform. The empire’s letter had come months ago.

Killed in action. Died serving the empire with honour. She had read those words until they meant nothing.

She looked between her child and the portrait for a long time. Father and child, sharing a room but not a world.

A knock came at the door. The parcel was small and worn. Inside was a journal. She recognised his handwriting instantly.

She read through the night. Every entry. Every word. The victory. The village. The doubt. The order she could barely bring herself to finish reading.

– This madness MUST BE CEASED!–

And then nothing. The quill just stopped.

She wept through most of it. By the end she wasn’t sure what she was feeling has a name.

Then she turned the last page. Different handwriting. A child’s hand– words misspelled, wrong grammar, each letter formed with effort.

***

To soljer’s wife,

My name is Lilia. I am Sriboznyan. I am seven years old. I was six when soljer found me.

He put bandage on my leg. He carried me when I could not walk. He gave me book and said keep it safe. I keep safe for one year.

He told me, run and don’t look back. I ran. I did not look back.

People here told me he did not come home. I cried. I am sorry he did not come home to you.

He was a good person. He looked at me like I was important.

I pray for him every night. I thank him for saving me.

From Lilia

***

Ariella sat for a long time without moving.

She slowly closed the journal and held it against her chest– as holding something you never let go of. Tears came quietly, not the weeping of grief but something deeper.

From the cradle, the child stirred softly.

She rose and lifted the baby into her arms. Stood at the window, the moon brightened the night sky. The journal still pressed against her heart.

“Your father,” she whispered, “was a good man.”

She stared at the journal in her hands, at his handwriting, at the orders he had copied so that someone, someday, would know the truth.

She thought of the portrait hung on the wall behind her. Killed in action. Died serving the empire with honour.

A lie that lasted a year.

The empire had given her clean words for an ugly truth. But Aryius left a record.

She pressed her palm against the journal’s cover and gazed at her child, then at the world beyond the window.

Something settled in her chest. Resolve.

He had stood at the end with only his conscience. She would do the same.