I jumped outside through the window and dropped to a hay bin outside, the horses besides me. I landed in the bin of hay, rolled around a bit and sprawled my arms out. A horse in front of me, startled, drove its legs up and yanked at its harness. It smacked its body against the door. The hinges snapped and the horse leapt out. There were fires in the city. Men coming in, flooding the front gate. The wall guards were shot by arrows, their bodies falling into the water or onto the streets. The arrows snapping off their corpses as they landed and rolled. I laid there. Watching. Fires rose high in some houses. Crows hunted down men as they ran through the streets. Some broke into the houses, taking women and children outside. Some of them…deciding to stay inside instead.

I could hardly stomach it. And if I had the energy to move, I would have. But I was just exhausted. Looking at everything, bleeding, my body feeling broken all around.

After the first wave of men, the first wave of rape and of death and of shouting, Vincent came in. He rode on his horse, looking out at a horizon of terror. I stood. The hay came off me. I took off my mask and walked over, stumbling and catching myself against a wooden post.

I walked up to Vincent. A Crow stopped me and looked at my face, a sort of shock in his eyes.

He let me pass.

“Make ‘em stop.” I said. “Some of them, they’re a little unhinged.”

Vincent looked down, he raised the visor on his head.

“What happened?”

“There’s a couple of guys…they went in…” I looked back to the house where I’d seen it happen. There was nothing left of it, smashed windows and a broken door and a fire spilling out of the gaps. “Fuck.”

“Virgil, your face.” Vincent stepped down from his horse.

“I’m alright.”

I touched my nose, most of it was hanging off my face. The blood felt warm streaming down my neck and onto my chest.

“Virgil, you need to see a doctor.” Vincent said.

“What?”

“You need to see a doctor.” He said.

I could not hear him. He pointed out and I went through the gates, stumbling through men fleeting into the city with swords raised high. The gluttony in their eyes. Crows I’d never seen before, freshly drafted. I went forward and out, the gate forming a moat to land. The waters were flushed red, you could see it in the dark, against the fires of the city glowing like little stars on the wide lake. I walked and did not look back.

A doctor stitched me fast, he clenched my flesh together until it pursed and ran a thread down to tighten the gap. He was working on the last three stitches. I sat on a chair, arms on my knees.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

“For the last time. No.” I said.

“It usually does.”

He dabbed an alcohol doused handkerchief and ran it down the cut. I closed my eyes, winced, moaned. Then he grabbed a bandage and made five long wraps straight down around my face. My nose felt squished and compressed against it and the hot blood felt swollen and trapped inside the wound.

“We’ll have to pray infection hasn’t taken.” The Doctor dipped his hands in cold water and wiped.

“Infection? Isn’t that why you rubbed me full of that awful stuff?” I asked.

“The alcohol will help. But half your face was missing and we can’t be sure any inch of it isn’t ruined.” He said. “Then there’s the problem of seeing how you heal.”

“I don’t care how I look like.” I said. “As long as my nose still works, who cares?”

The Doctor nodded his head.

“I don’t know how you young men can stand it, ruining yourself this young.” He said. “It’s a sad thing to know young men fight wars.”

“Who else will?”

“You ask who would fight in war, and you don’t ask why we should be fighting in the first place.”

“We fight because we have to.” I said. “War is inevitably between nations. Between men.”

“Is it though?” The Doctor dried his hands.

I looked around, the surgeons gear tucked in a small little box in the corner on top of a cupbard. A flat piece of wooden giving this doctors office structure, though slightly slanded such that everything seemed at a small angle. A tent pole stood tall at the center holding the roof in place. Blood stained the floor. Large amounts of it. A man was hunched over. Another laid on his side, these were men far and away towards the walls. So dreary with violence that they only hummed or moaned every now and then.

The flaps opened. Vincent walked through.

“How are you doing?” He asked, breathing hard.

“Good. How’s the assault?”

“It’s over. We’ve taken it.”

“It’s only been a few hours.” I said.

“There’s the problem.” Vincent winced. His helmet was to his side.

He plopped it down onto a table. The doctor looked at him, getting a needle ready for stitches, eyeing him every now and then. Vincent came up to me with a chair and sat across.

“You just took a city and you look like you’re about to explode with anger.”

“There wasn’t much of a city to take. Duvall took his men. Most of the elite are gone.” He said. “They’ve retreated.”

“Fuck.” I said. “We took the city though? That’s something. That’s all Xanthus wanted, after all.”

“It’s not enough. We need his head.” Vincent said. “If we let him live then he will raise another army, at another juncture. He will come back and try to reclaim Dark Waters.”

“We can’t take the whole force with us.” I said. “They need to stay and defend.”

“That’s right.”

“Then I’ll go. With the fourteenth.”

“You need to rest.” He said.

“No. I don’t.” I said. “I need to finish this. You need Duvall’s head. Right?”

“Right. I’m not asking it of you though.”

“But you are. You don’t know it, but you are.” I said. “And that’s alright. I can stomach the responsibility.”

“How bad is it?” Vincent pointed to his own nose.

Just moving my eyes, I could feel the stretch of my flesh against the stitches about my bridge. It stung and radiated out to my forehead and my neck.

“I feel fine.” I said.

“I’m sorry, but I can not condone this line of reasoning.” The Doctor said. He put down his instruments, lowered his head and faced us. “There is no part of me that is in any way shape or form comfortable with the idea of you going out and fighting again.”

“It’s just a scar, doctor.” I said.

“Is that what you think?” He asked. “I’ve looked your body over, a simple glance, and I know for a fact that you have a few fractured bones along your waist. Possibly a torn muscle on your hips. Your pinky is fractured.”

“And?” I asked. “Little bits here and there out of place, nothing a good beating won’t fix.”

“Is that right?” Vincent asked.

“You know if you try to stop me now, you won’t be able to.” I said.

“I know.” Vincent said. “I just need to know that you’re in deep waters. This is a lot of trouble for a little glory?”

“Glory?” I asked. “This is about sending us back to the capitol. This is about the finding of our home.”

“Home?”

“Yours and mine and everyone else’s. Everyone.” I said. “We’re all in the deep with you Vincent and we’re in it because we want a home. We want something for ourselves.”

“Are you not listening?”

The Doctor tapped at the table and glared my way, fixing his glasses on his nose. They casted a sheen and I looked away back to Vincent. A wind blew underneath the tent canvas and the draft went up my pants. My shirt was off, I wore nothing but my pants and felt every little sting on my bruises and cuts. Hot night wind like a rake against my beaten body.

“You wouldn’t understand, Doc. You’re one of Xerxes’ men.” I said. “You don’t know how many years it’s been for us. All of us. How much we’ve walked.”

“You would really stand with me? With Xerxes.”

“Yes. I would.” I said. “I thought I’ve said as much.”

I stood up. My torso felt heavy, my back hunched.

“We will conquer this man and bring him back to Xerxes. We will have this matter settled and you’ll be in the senate in no time. That way and no other way.” I said. “It’s fate. Isn’t it?”

Vincent’s eyes lit up. Giant red eyes, a sort of obsession being lit once more. A kiln being fed with logs. To be fair, I felt the fire myself. I felt it in my veins and in my stomach and I did not know where it started from, but that it was here in me and I could not help it. The Capitol would be ours. The Crows would rule. Vincent would be our king. And we would begin this conquest with a head on Xerxes’s feet.

That way and no other. That dream, and no other.