Shields, Screams, and the Weight of a Night

I can still smell the smoke from that night - pungent, choking, it clings to my memory like a bad omen. The Golden Troop had arrived in Greenhaven just as the sun dipped below the horizon, our armor gleaming gold in the fading light. We’d received word that orcish raiders were closing in on this small village nestled between two great mountains. I remember Marco’s face, set in determination as he ordered us to take positions around the town square. My shield, ever faithful, felt heavy with purpose against my arm.

The screams began before the darkness fully claimed us. I positioned myself near the town hall where many of the civilians had gathered for safety. The clash of steel on steel echoed through the streets as my comrades engaged the enemy. Arrows whizzed past, and I raised my shield instinctively - it’s a motion so practiced now it feels like breathing. But what still shakes me was when I saw a young girl, no older than ten winters, frozen in terror in the middle of our defensive line. Her parents were nowhere to be seen. Without thinking, I swept her up with one arm while keeping my shield high with the other.

That night was a blur of sweat, blood, and desperation. But there are moments etched vividly into my mind - like when an orcish axe struck true against my shield but couldn’t penetrate its golden strength; or when Silia, appearing out of nowhere like she often does during battles, used her magic to heal a grievous wound on one of our soldiers’ legs; or even when we finally managed to push back far enough that Marco gave the order to evacuate all civilians through a secret passage beneath the town hall.Anonymous, do you know what stuck with me most? It wasn’t just protecting those people physically - it was seeing hope rekindled in their eyes when they realized they weren’t alone.