The screams began when the sun was at its highest.

Akari had been in the medical tent, tending to the sick and wounded soldiers, when he first heard them. And, without even poking his head outside, he knew what was happening.

Everyone on the battlefield knew this would happen eventually, they just had no way of knowing when. The Phaetians had a knack for the element of surprise. They had clearly plotted this for some time, found out all the Selu’s weaknesses, and took advantage of them. They knew they could hardly see in the day because of the lightness of their eyes, and they had to tie a thin cloth around their eyes just to bear it. From the sounds outside and the rush of soldiers into the tent, the Phaetians’ plan was working.

Akari and the rest of the medics rush to treat the new arrivals, but it seems that with each patient they treat, two more arrive.

“Are we out of bandages?” Akari exclaims, out of astonishment more than anything. “How are we out of bandages?”

“There’s some in the supply tent!” Yotsuki, who’s currently patching up a soldier with a scrap of his shirt, calls. “You can go get it once the fight calms down a bit! For now, just use whatever you can find.”

Akari’s lips press together in a thin line, but he knows better than to go outside while the Phaetians are shooting their guns. He’d never actually seen one himself, but he saw the damage they did every day. They could bury inches deep into muscle, could blow off entire limbs, with just one twitch of a finger.

So Akari and fourteen other medics work together to put dozens of soldiers back together. With every second, they lose another soldier. And with every second, Akari loses another strand of hope.

Outside, once the gunshots have died down and most of your soldiers are gone, you stumble through the battlefield for a safe place to lie down and die.

The arrow has buried deep in your abdomen, the barbed edges making every step feel like fire. You would rather have taken a bullet than a Selu arrow. It would have been quicker, at least.

After many pitiful minutes of stumbling, you finally collapse amidst a pile of crates. This seems as good a place as any. You’re not too sure who won the battle. You’re not too sure you care, either. The whole war is nonsense, begun because some man with an ego wanted more than he had. You should have left when you had the chance, but now it’s too late and you’re about to die. At least you don’t have to keep fighting for a man you hate and a country you couldn’t care less about.

A cough wracks your body, splattering blood onto the dirt. The sound seems to alert someone nearby, and you hear cautious footsteps approach. A blurry smudge comes into your line of sight, but as your vision clears, the smudge becomes a man. A Selu man.

You tense, bracing yourself for him to strike, but the medic patch on his uniform reassures you, if only a bit. He looks conflicted, clearly torn between this foolish war and his own morals, but after a few moments, he finally speaks in a soft voice.

“I’m going to break the shaft. Just sit still.” That’s the only warning he gives before snapping the shaft of the arrow. A scream begins to build in your throat, but he places a firm hand over your mouth to silence you as he begins to bandage the wound.

“Take this,” he says, pushing a small jar of ointment and banged into your hand, “and get out of here. There’s an abandoned shack not far from here. Hole up there, and patch yourself up.”