ECHOES OF THE FALLEN 

I stood at the front of my class, glancing around. The weather was fair today, and sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the classroom.

“After the battle against the Ashborns came to an end, the world finally began to heal. It was a brutal conflict—day after day, soaked in bloodshed.” I said, answering one of my students’ questions.  

Another hand rose, “Professor, who exactly were the Ashborns? And mana… I heard it was the Ashborns who created it. Is that true?” he questioned. 

 I gave a nod. “Ashborns were no different from us humans. Where they came from and how we can wield mana is something no one truly knows.” 

Before anyone else could speak—and I could tell they had more questions—the bell rang. Chairs scraped against the floor as the students stood and began filing out of the classroom.  

“Get home safely, alright?” I called after them with a smile. A few nodded before vanishing into the noisy hallway.

Once the room was empty, I gathered my books and made my way to the faculty office. The corridor outside buzzed with chatter, students laughing, talking, planning their evenings. The world has changed so much… I thought. 

I closed the faculty office door behind me, the muffled noise fading away. Setting my books in the drawer of my desk, I poured myself a glass of water and let out a quiet breath. I completed some of my work that I had neglected for a while and then decided to head home.  

I stepped out of the room. The hallway was quiet now. Each click of my boots echoed against the floor, filling the stillness as I walked.  

Beyond the school gates, the world was alive again. The streets buzzed with people going about their day, voices mingling, laughter drifting, footsteps crossing. I made my way along the footpath, taking it all in. 

It’s lively today, I thought. Some chatted on their phones, others stood waiting for a friend or a partner. The occasional honk of a car cut through the air, grounding the bustle of the city. 

As I walked through the familiar streets, my memories resurfaced. I remember how these streets were twenty-five years ago—stained red as blood kissed the earth; organs of my comrades scattered everywhere like fallen leaves. The battle was merciless; every day was a struggle. Every family lost someone they loved; the scars of that war never truly faded—not from the land, not from us. 

Was that truly the end? I wondered. The world has grown so peaceful… so arrogant in the years after the war. The mana drifting in the air now felt diluted—pathetic. It was nothing like the searing, overwhelming tide of power that once burned during those battles. 

I kept walking, and the noise of the world faded as I walked into a graveyard. This graveyard was for those who had fallen in the merciless war. I was once their leader, commander of the front lines. I can still see it clearly, the way they were massacred and how they begged for their lives… I felt a lump forming in my throat. Every time I came here, I felt as if I was being suffocated. 

I remained in the graveyard for a while, letting the weight of my losses sink in. The sun had started to set, dusting the horizon in a shade of orange, the chirping of birds going back to their nests filled the air, and leaves were detaching from the tree branches as the wind came. 

 I let out a deep sigh, looking over at the graves one last time before I walked off. My heart was heavy from the losses I suffered, from how many soldiers I sent to their deaths. People called it a victory, but to me it felt like I lost. I lost everyone around me, my parents were killed in the first attack from Ashborn, my friends went missing, and my soldiers were killed. 

 I walked in silence, the cold wind whispering against my ears. As I was walking, I felt a sharp pain in my heart. I’ve been feeling these pinches in my heart for a long while, each pinch sharper than the last.  

Maybe my end is near, I thought. I felt nothing whenever I thought of death—no fear, no sorrow, only silence. 

 The soft glow of a bar light made my thoughts come to a stop. I glanced at the door. I haven’t had a drink for a long time, I thought. I decided to head in. I opened the door, and the warm, cozy air felt better than the cold, chilly air outside. 

 The bar wasn’t fancy or extravagant; the interior was dark wood, the seating scattered across the floor, and blue lights hung from the ceiling, casting the place in a cold glow. I slid into a stool at the counter and ordered a whiskey. The bartender, a quiet man, poured it without a word. I watched as the pale gold liquid was swirled into the glass, catching the faint shimmer of the light above. 

 I drank… a lot of it. How many glasses had it been? I couldn’t remember. My mind was heavy, every thought sinking like a stone. I tried to focus on the glass in front of me, but my vision blurred, the world spinning out of reach. I was drunk. 

 My lungs burned, each breath ragged. My heart was hammered against my ribs; it was painful. A groan slipped from my lips, my body temperature began to fall, and the chill seeped into my bones. 

 I reached for another glass of the pale-gold liquid. That’s when I noticed the skin of my hand—pale, almost blue. 

I chugged another glass down, coughing as the burn clawed at my throat. The pain in my chest only worsened—lungs and heart screaming with every ragged breath I took. I tried to think, to hold on to someone, but my mind seemed to be empty. 

The glass slipped from my hand, and a laugh escaped my lips. When I pushed myself up, my body betrayed me. I stumbled and fell on my back; the room spun. A laugh escaped my lips again, a raw, broken sound that drew the stares of other customers. 

Another fit of giggles escaped my lips, senseless and drunk. Their voices reached me, but distant, muffled. I laughed one last time, and my vision started to get dark by the second. I looked at the bartender, the quiet man was now grinning, as if he’d won a lottery. And then—my consciousness slipped away. 

I fell into darkness, complete and utter darkness. I looked around, and nothing was there except me and a field of black. 

I tried to move, but I couldn’t—I had no body. No arms. No legs. No breath to choke on. Just… thought. Just me, stripped bare, floating in the endless abyss. Where am I? What’s going on? I wondered. It was eerily quiet, no sound or smell. 

 As time dragged in the endless abyss, fragments of myself surfaced. My name… Sievert. Once, I was the commander of the front lines, the blade that carved through the war. No—I was. That man no longer existed. Now I was just a weary professor, buried in dusty books. 

This is starting to piss me off. I thought, getting irritated. 

“Commander… please don’t worry about… me… lead the war… for humanity!" That sentence, full of pain and dread, was a final request of my soldier before she was mercilessly slaughtered. 

 Anger started to take root in me. I thought about my actions and my mistakes. I could’ve saved many lives if I hadn’t ordered them to attack the Ashborns in their own turf. 

What can I even do now? That was twenty-five years ago. I thought, feeling guilty and helpless. 

 I floated in this black field for who knows how long. I was getting bored by the second—just then, I saw a flash of a bright light. My eyes darted towards it… It disappeared. 

What was that? I mused. 

It appeared again. My eyes followed it, quicker this time, and it didn’t disappear. I kept my gaze on the glowing star-like object. 

 I tried to think what it was. Is that a star—a tug I was pulled towards it slightly.  

Huh? What was that? Confusion swirled within me. 

 I glanced at the light; it seemed to be emitting more light now. I felt another tug, no…it pulled me in. 

I ended up in another field of black—but this time, I was falling. It was still pitch black. 

 What’s with this place? Is this a dream? I thought. But then—I saw the faces of my comrades, forming out of thin air. I felt the touch of their hands on me, warm and soothing. 

I was stunned. Weren’t they dead? My eyes darted from one face to the other—recognizing everyone. 

They spoke—in unison “Commander Sievert, please… in your new life, live freely, go where you are cherished. Go where you are celebrated. Go where your spirit is renewed. Go where you will be flourished.” 

I felt a mix of emotions bubble up. Confusion, panic, shock, and something I couldn’t quite identify. I thought they were dead, yet here they are speaking to me. Is this an illusion? I’m dreaming—yeah, that’s right. It’s a dream, I’ll be awake soon enough. 

They spoke again, “Goodbye, commander.” And with that, they turned into dust, withering away.  

Before I had the time to think of anything, I heard muffled words; they felt like someone was trying to speak to me in a river. I couldn’t understand what those words were. I’m hearing something, I think I’m finally waking up. I felt relief wash over me. But then— 

 “—it’s a boy.” A feminine voice, I understood what they said this time. 

A boy? Am I in a gender reveal party—no, I was at the bar last time, drinking my ass off. 

My heart skipped a beat as I saw the darkness fading away. Yes! Finally! I saw colors, but my gaze was blurry. Slowly, though, it started to clear up. 

The first thing I saw was a pair of blue eyes looking at me. Who’s this woman? I thought, unable to recognize who it was. Her face was beautiful, with ash-brown locks of hair that flowed past her shoulders, thin eyebrows, and eyes that looked as if a sea was captured in them. 

I was being held by this woman. Maybe she’s a nurse. I did lose consciousness at the bar. I thought, agreeing with myself. 

“Look, Rendal! Our Kairon opened his eyes!” she said in an excited voice. Her voice felt soft and soothing. 

Our… Kairon? I thought, a little confused.

 My thoughts were brought to a stop quickly. I heard footsteps; they came rushing and almost broke the door open. 

I saw a figure entering through the door—a man. He approached me, his steps making the wooden floor screech slightly. I felt a little nervous and uneasy. Where exactly am I? This doesn’t seem like a dream.  

 I saw his face, with slight wrinkles at the end of his eyes; his face was cleanly shaved, and his facial structure was sharp. His eyes were Hazel-brown with golden flakes at the end, trimmed dark-brown locks of messy hair sat on his scalp. And sun-kissed skin. “Hello, son,” he said, scratching my cheek with his finger. "He has the same hair as you, Amilia." I looked at him, wide-eyed. 

Son…? Same hair...? That’s when I remembered the words of my soldier, in your next life, freely. Next life… I mused.  

I looked down at my body; it was small. I had been reborn as an infant, and I panicked. These two—Rendal and Amilia are… my parents.