Requiem of the Forgotten

The hammering didn’t stop. Even at dawn, the clang of metal against metal drummed through the fortress like a heartbeat nobody asked for. I stood near the eastern barricade, arms folded, watching two dwarves argue over the best way to reinforce a cracked rampart. One insisted on steel plates; the other barked about using layered wood. Neither gave an inch. The sunrise didn’t soften their tempers.

Everywhere I looked, people moved with purpose. No smiles, no idle chatter. Just tense, hurried work. Final touches on the walls. Final stock checks. Final anything. Because if the rumors were true, we had a week—maybe less—before the enemy arrived. Some whispered it would be only days. Others thought we might not even get that.

“Dammit,” grumbled a soldier as he rushed by, nearly tripping over an abandoned crate of arrows. “Move your shit, or I’ll burn it myself.”

Someone else cursed back, but neither slowed down. Nobody had time to trade insults.

I exhaled. My lungs felt raw, like I hadn’t slept enough… or breathed enough. Probably both.

“Take a look at that,” Cealith muttered at my side, nodding toward a new cart rolling in. A donkey pulled it, eyes wild, braying in protest at every tug of the reins. Two recruits tried to calm it, one shouting orders, the other just swearing under his breath.

“Poor beast,” I said. “All this noise is driving it insane.”

Cealith’s expression didn’t shift. He barely blinked. “Might as well help them. If that cart tips, they’ll lose half the supplies.”

I looked around. Everyone else seemed occupied—carrying planks, assembling ballista parts, rushing new volunteers around. So I sighed and stepped forward. The donkey pinned its ears, stamped a hoof.

“Easy,” I said, voice low. I reached for the bridle, hoping I wouldn’t lose a finger. “We’re not gonna eat you.”

It jerked sideways. I stumbled back, nearly slipping on loose gravel. One of the recruits swore, yanking the reins too hard. The donkey only grew more agitated.

Cealith moved behind the cart, trying to stabilize the load—barrels of grain, sacks of dried beans, maybe a crate of crossbow bolts. My heart thumped, imagining all of it crashing down. We couldn’t afford to lose a single arrow. Not now.

I coaxed the donkey again, softer. “You’re okay. Don’t mind the noise. We’re all going a little crazy.”

It flicked an ear. Was that progress?

Then a sudden clang from the blacksmith’s area made it jump, rattling the cart. Cealith cursed under his breath, pressing a hand against the crates. The recruits did their best to soothe the panicked animal, but it still looked ready to bolt.

Eventually, with enough gentle tugs and a lot of whispered swearing, we guided the donkey to a quieter corner behind the main rampart. Cealith helped unload, arms taut, muscles shifting under that elven poise. The donkey snorted, finally calmer.

I wiped sweat from my brow. “Feels like the fortress itself is about to crack.”

“It might,” Cealith said flatly.

I didn’t have a comeback for that.

The rest of the day felt like balancing on a knife’s edge. People came and went, lugging crates, stacking arrows, marking maps with a jittery intensity that made me think of ants before a storm. Every clang of the blacksmith’s hammer echoed like a countdown, every creak of the gates felt like a warning. It was enough to make my teeth ache from clenching my jaw so damn tight. Nobody said the word “war,” but we all knew it was breathing down our necks.

By late afternoon, the fortress started to slip into a hush—like it was saving breath for what would come next. I ended up near the western watchtower with Cealith again, trying and failing to shake off the tension. The sky hung in a dusty orange, a sun too tired to shine. He pointed out a crack in the tower’s foundation. “They’ll patch it by tomorrow,” he said, not sounding convinced. I gave a half-hearted nod, my mind drifting to the battered donkey from earlier. If one stubborn animal could almost send our supplies crashing, what the hell would a full enemy onslaught do?

And then, in the distance, I saw them: three silhouettes against the dying light. Horses kicking up dust, riders leaning forward as if racing the sun. My pulse skipped. “Must be reinforcements,” I murmured, though part of me hoped for something more—some sense that life could be normal again, even for an hour.

Cealith grunted. “Go. I’ll finish here.” I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. Jogging down the ramp, I cut across the courtyard, weaving around a training session where two dwarves sparred with massive axes. Sparks flew off each clash. They cursed with every swing—gritty words that turned heads but made me grin. It was so… alive.

I reached the west gate just as the trio arrived, hooves skidding to a halt. My heart gave a thrilled jolt when I recognized them. Carmen swung off her horse first, messy hair half-wrapped in a short ponytail, eyes shining. She smirked at me like I was a kid she’d just caught sneaking out. “Hey, Boss. Miss me?” She looked the same—scratch that, a little older, a little leaner, but that sarcasm still dripped from every word.

Behind her, Daisuke adjusted his glasses and offered a tired wave, while Amina took in the fortress walls with a slow, hawk-like gaze, a small frown tugging at her lips. Daisuke was lugging a short sword and a weathered map case, half undone. Amina had a thin dagger sheathed at her belt, posture relaxed but ready. They were travelers now, not just wide-eyed survivors. And yet, the relief on their faces was unmistakable.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “You have no idea,” I managed, stepping forward. Carmen’s grin widened, and she clapped me on the shoulder. Her grip was stronger than I remembered. Daisuke gave me an awkward half-hug, muttering something about horse blisters. Amina just nodded, but her eyes gleamed with recognition.

“How’s the fortress holding up?” Carmen asked, glancing around. She spotted an ongoing argument between a dark elf and a stout human over pike formation—both yelling, arms flailing. “Looks like a blast.”

I snorted. “Feels like we’re one wrong move from everything going to shit.”

“Then we got here just in time,” Daisuke said, patting his map case. “I’ve got a plan for the outer ramparts.” He sounded confident, though sweat beaded at his temple. He always got excited about strategic stuff, like war was a puzzle he could solve if he tried hard enough.

Amina’s gaze flicked to me. “You look thinner. Didn’t think that was possible.”

I rolled my eyes, lips curving in a smile I couldn’t suppress. “I missed you guys too,” I said, voice cracking a little at the end. Carmen snorted softly, and even Amina’s grim mouth twitched up for a second.

For the first time in days, I felt more than fear. I felt… alive. Tomorrow might be a funeral, but right now, I had my friends back. And if I was lucky, I’d get one last night to remember what it might felt like to be a teenager.

The fortress felt different when you walked it with friends by your side—especially friends who’d never seen this place before. I led Carmen, Amina, and Daisuke through the winding pathways, guiding them around piles of lumber and coiled ropes that seemed to multiply each day. Every new corner revealed something they hadn’t expected: a half-built watchtower, a freshly dug trench, or a row of crude but functional barricades lined with sharpened stakes.

Daisuke lagged behind a moment, his gaze snagged on the overhead catwalks. “These beams… They’re new, right?” He almost tripped over a stray plank. “If we used them for overhead cover”

“Later, genius.” Carmen smirked, hooking an arm through his to keep him steady. “We just got here, let’s not turn it into a full-blown strategy workshop. Where’s the fun in that?”

Amina silently walked a few paces behind us, eyes roving over the defenses like she was cataloging every detail. Her expression was that calculated calm I remembered—like she was ready to either trade with a merchant or fight off a thief, whichever happened first. She inhaled, then exhaled quietly. “It’s bigger than I thought,” she admitted. “I mean, we heard rumors but… this place is massive.”

“Massive and on the verge of collapse,” I said, kicking a stray pebble. It bounced over the dirt. “We’re reinforcing it every day, but sometimes I swear it’s like pouring water into a broken bucket. The enemy’s not exactly sending love letters.”

Carmen patted my shoulder. “Relax, Boss. If it falls, at least you’ll have us here to watch it happen together.” There was sarcasm in her tone, but also a strange kind of comfort. Like maybe the end of the world would be less terrifying if we faced it as a group.

I led them to an open courtyard near the old tower—one of the few spots not drowning in half-finished war prep. The evening sun cast long shadows along the beaten earth. A few dwarven soldiers rolled a heavy cannon-looking contraption across the yard, cursing under their breath each time the wheels stuck in a rut. Somewhere overhead, a pair of elves argued about arrow supply. It was chaos, but an almost… familiar chaos.

“Where do we sleep?” Daisuke asked. He looked torn between excitement and exhaustion, adjusting his glasses again. A corner of me wanted to tell him not to get too comfortable—sleep might be in short supply soon.

I pointed toward a low row of barracks beyond the next arch. “Spare bunks. Not fancy, but beats the ground.”

Amina studied the barracks, her lips pressing thin. “Better than outside. That’s all that matters.”

Carmen took in the scene, the frantic movement of soldiers, the towers overhead, the patchwork of new and old stone. Then she turned to me with an almost playful grin. “Well, Boss, you were right. This place is… something.”

“‘Something’ sums it up,” I said, feeling my shoulders ease a bit as her grin spread to me. It was the first time all day I’d felt like the fortress wasn’t just a doomed outpost—it was a place we might actually stand together, however briefly.

A few steps away, Cealith appeared, arms folded, gaze unreadable. He inclined his head in a polite nod to the newcomers, then met my eyes. “We’re lighting a fire later. There’s a spot behind the training ground.”

I swallowed. Everyone knew. War, battle, blood—whatever tomorrow brought. But for now, we had an evening. A chance to pretend we were just a bunch of teenagers on a casual meet-up instead of half-soldiers bracing for the world to collapse. And that thought alone loosened the tight band around my chest.

“Yeah,” I said, managing a smile. “That sounds good.”

Carmen and Amina exchanged glances—some silent conversation passing between them. Daisuke stepped around a stack of crates, nearly tripping over a leftover crossbow. I caught his arm, and he laughed sheepishly. This was us, in all our weirdness and barely-contained panic, but together. For a split second, it felt like being a kid again, waking up on the first day of summer, not worrying about class or chores—just being alive with your friends, unstoppable because you didn’t know enough to be afraid.

And then the sky above rumbled, distant thunder or maybe a catapult test. Shadows lengthened across the yard, like the fortress itself was reminding us: Time’s running out.

Sunset came in a rush of amber light and drifting smoke from distant torches. By the time we’d handled the last bits of busywork—hauling a few more crates, giving Daisuke a place to stow his map case—the fortress courtyard started emptying out. People drifted off to the mess hall or their bunks, quiet murmurs passing for conversation. A hush fell, not from peace, but from anticipation. Like everyone was saving their breath for tomorrow’s screams.

We gathered behind the training ground, where a gentle slope offered a sliver of privacy away from the main walkway. A meager fire crackled in a ring of stones, throwing dancing shadows over our faces. I sat on a low crate with Carmen and Amina perched near me, while Daisuke rummaged for a small jug of something that might’ve been homemade liquor. It was dark enough that only the distant glow of fortress lanterns reminded us we weren’t alone.

Cealith arrived first, somehow even quieter than the dusk. He placed a small bundle of kindling by the fire, nodded to us, and stepped back like a watchful ghost. A few minutes later, Nikita appeared, stoic as always, carrying a wooden bowl of what might’ve been roasted nuts. He didn’t say much—just gave a curt nod as if acknowledging we still existed. But there was no malice there. Just that stern determination that turned heads whenever he walked by.

“So,” Carmen said, eyeing the jug in Daisuke’s hands. “Is that, like… dangerous?”

Daisuke scratched the back of his neck. “I asked around. Some dwarves said it’s basically fruit that’s fermented a little too long. Might taste like burnt socks.”

Amina arched an eyebrow. “We’re about to fight a goddamn war, and you’re worried about taste?”

“I’m worried about not puking my guts out.”

Carmen snorted. “Coward.”

She reached over and took the jug, uncorking it. The smell hit me first—sweet and sour, like apples left out in the sun. She lifted it to her lips, took a swig, then made a face that was both disgusted and impressed. “Yeah, it’s gross,” she confirmed, wiping her mouth. “But I’ve had worse.”

Nikita stepped forward, expression unreadable. He took the jug without a word, sipped. Didn’t even flinch. Amina let out a short laugh, almost a scoff. “Show-off.”

I hesitated when it got to me. “I dunno,” I muttered. “If we die tomorrow, I’d rather not do it hungover.”

“Don’t be a wimp,” Carmen teased, jostling me with her elbow. “If tomorrow really is the end, at least have one decent memory of tasting something stupid.”

“Yeah” Amina added, deadpan. “Live a little.”

So I took a swig. It burned my tongue and my throat, enough that I coughed. The group burst into laughter—friendly, warm, the kind of laughter that rushes in to fill the cracks of fear nobody wants to talk about. I felt my cheeks flush. Maybe it was embarrassment, maybe the liquor, maybe a bit of both.

“Fuck,” I wheezed, wiping my mouth. “That’s strong.”

Daisuke grimaced as he tried it next. “Feels like it’s eating my insides,” he muttered.

“Don’t overthink it,” Carmen said, snatching the jug back. She took another swig, coughed less this time, then handed it around again.

The warmth of the fire and the low chatter soothed my nerves more than I expected. We started talking about random shit—the donkey fiasco from earlier, the time Daisuke got lost in a half-collapsed temple, that one day Carmen tried to trade a broken dagger for a bag of honeyed figs. Even Nikita chimed in here and there, throwing out short comments that made us realize he had a deadpan sense of humor hidden under all that discipline.

Amina mentioned something about a street vendor in a faraway city, how she once scammed a guard by selling him fake pearls. We laughed, not because it was heroic, but because it was so purely her. Daisuke recounted a snippet of ancient siege tactics with that glint in his eye. Cealith, arms folded by the fire, listened mostly, occasionally nodding if we pestered him for an opinion. It was chaotic, a little messy, and entirely… real.

And for a fleeting moment, the fortress didn’t feel like a place bracing for war. It felt like a ragtag band of teenagers caught between worlds—past and present, fear and faith—just trying to make the best of an impossible situation. Jokes flew, snark reigned, and the liquor dulled that gnawing dread in the back of my skull. The ground under us seemed stable for once, the air warmer than it had any right to be.

Carmen and Nikita ended up chatting a few paces from the group. Their voices carried softly in the dark—nothing intimate, just a calm, subdued conversation about tomorrow’s guard rotations. Then I noticed them standing a bit closer, shoulders nearly touching, expressions mild but serious. She cracked a joke. He smirked. And then, gently, she leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t some grand romantic display. Just… a quiet, private moment between two people who’d decided tomorrow’s chaos deserved a small taste of tenderness tonight. My chest tightened for half a second—maybe from surprise, maybe from something else. But it passed quickly, replaced by a strange sense of acceptance. I’d never seen Carmen look so peaceful.

“Yo, pass that jug back,” Daisuke called, breaking the silence. Nikita pulled away, the faintest blush crossing his features, and Carmen turned around with a casual shrug like nothing had happened. She tossed me a small grin—maybe as an apology, maybe as a challenge. I just shrugged back. No big deal.

Minutes blended into an hour. The jar of questionable booze slowly emptied. Our voices grew a tad louder, laughter came easier. We teased Amina about her scowling face until she threatened to stab us with her dagger. We goaded Cealith into recounting some elven myth—he did so reluctantly, weaving a brief story about a lost kingdom beneath the sea. Daisuke hung on every word.

Eventually, we quieted. The fire crackled softly, almost comforting. Someone—I think Carmen—asked a half-serious question: “What if tomorrow never comes? Like, we just… wake up, and it’s all gone?”

No one answered. Because in that hush, we all felt it: the fortress, the war, the unstoppable avalanche we’d been trying to outrun. Night wore on, and we wore ourselves out talking, laughing, and distracting each other from the notion that a tide of darkness was already rolling toward us.

Finally, one by one, we drifted. Daisuke dozed off on a wooden crate. Amina nudged him awake, muttering something about crashing in the barracks. Cealith gave a short nod, then left wordlessly, probably to keep watch or find a quiet corner to rest. Carmen stretched, eyes half-lidded but still alert, and Nikita excused himself with a low grunt that might’ve been a “goodnight.” They walked off together, not holding hands or anything, but comfortable in each other’s space.

Which left me. I sat there a while longer, staring into the embers, feeling the leftover warmth on my face. My head buzzed a little, not just from the booze but from the sheer weight of the day. The fortress was never truly silent, but in that moment, it felt close. Like the world was holding its breath for dawn.

I exhaled, letting the last flickers of flame dance across my vision. We’d had our laughs, our closeness, our final surge of teenage life. Tomorrow, we’d have swords in hand and death at our doorstep. But tonight… we’d lived. We’d really lived.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.