THE SNOW CRUNCHED BENEATH HIS BOOTS. Dimitry treaded through the white fields, dragging his warhammer behind him. The echoes of the battlefield came to an end; the only ones left were the victors.Dimitry stopped before a dying boar. A part of its stomach was torn off, barely keeping itself alive. He ran his hand on its neck as if to soothe the poor beast’s heavy breathing. Whispering a short prayer, he raised his hammer and brought it down with one swift motion as blood and snow scattered everywhere. He continued walking through the silent tundra, picking up the red flag with a golden flame symbol. Corpses of both Thirios and warriors were scattered everywhere, the remnants of war. He was accustomed to it; in three hundred years of serving Smihja, he had fought countless battles —against shadow beasts and humans alike. Dimitry managed to stay alive each time, witnessing his comrades’ last breath. He was a survivor.The wars took a lot from him; his friends, his family, and his wife.
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