Never to return

Never to return – Timon Tan

Berrat don his armor, strapping his shoulder pads tightly, his wife helping him place a gorget over his neck. He helm proudly laid on stool next to the entrance of his tiny house, attired with all sorts of battle marks, from mere scratches to dividing penetrations, showcasing the history of its wearer and a testimony to its age in combat.

Proud as it may seem, his wife did not like it, rather, seeing it as what he would eventually die wearing rather than protecting him from death.

On his chest he wore a laced covered leathered armor. It was as light as a feather, yet still providing as much protection as plate armor would provide. It was specially weaved by his wife, putting her housekeeping skills into practical use on the battlefield. It was dyed his favored color, red, the same color that flowed through his veins, the color that he would probably last witness before he would die.

He did a final check on himself, ensuring all pieces of his armor were in place. He stood in front of the mirror, inspecting the man in the image, a warrior covered in a red suit of hand-weaved armor. This was the armor he was to ride into battle in, this was the armor he was going to fight in, to kill in, and possibly to die in.

His eye turned to his sword lying on the table. With little hesitation, he held it in his grip, holding it high above his head for a moment, like he was ready for battle, ready to sway it down to strike his first victim, than instead let it down, placing it in its scabbard.

He was ready.

He walked up to the door, grabbing the helmet in his arm, the helmet worn for several generations, by his forefathers and beyond. The helmet they rode into combat with, and died in. He felt proud to now, finally wear that same helmet…to don the power of his generations on himself.

He looked over at his wife, standing right next to him. She looked into his eye, trying to find a moments comfort in, yet finding none. In his eyes only held an uncertainty, not knowing what lay on the road ahead.

“Honey, I’d…I’d…I’d just want to say goodbye.” He said. Yes, he would return. He would return like he did many times before. Was he not standing there now after many a times, wearing that same suit of armor, welding that same sword, facing danger time and time again?

“It’s all right, its just that…just that,” she paused, choking on her emotions, than looking over at the peaceful angel sleeping in the bed. “If Ayda calls…I don’t know what might become of her. I don’t know how I’ll nurture her with out her father.”

Berrat stood silent for a moment, looking with his wife over to the sleeping beauty, than down at the ground.

“If I don’t, than who will? Who will pick up the fight? Who will challenge the Kraa? Who will protect this land, protect you, protect,” He looked over at the angel again, “protect her?”

They gripped each other tightly for one last time, tears already dripping from each other’s eyes. Hugging, gripping each other, for what might mean separation for eternity.

He let go, walking over to his daughter, still sleeping. He looked over her. His heart overwhelmed, hoping that this was not the last time he ever saw her face again.

“Girl, daddy loves you, daddy loves you.” He said. A tear dropped from his eye, dripping onto her flawless cheek. He took off his glove, using his bear hand to wipe the tear off, stroking her face with his fingers, than finally, his last goodbye to her, a kiss. He picked himself up, walking slowly next to the door, with the rain pouring outside, than with a final look into his house, turned to the darkness outside that awaited him, and left.

Unknown to him…she was conscious enough, conscious enough to sense his kiss. It meaning that he would never see her again…never to return.

Then, she cried.