Night lay heavy over the battlefield. Eleanor stood alone atop a wooden watchtower, the cold wind slipping through its gaps and tugging at the torn flags above her. Even with hundreds of soldiers spread across the green plain below, an unnatural silence clung to the air, a silence no sound of movent or clatter of armor could break. It was the kind of silence that cos before the inevitable.
Behind her, the capital and the third fortress glimred faintly under the moonlight, like dying embers in the dark. Ahead stretched an endless field of tall grass swaying in the wind, and at its farthest edge lood a colossal, translucent barrier, so vast it seed to cleave the world in two. Beyond it, still and imnse, waited the castle.
That castle...
All the years she had spent trapped in the tutorial, she had never truly believed she would see it up close. And now there it was before her, still impossibly distant, like a dream that refused to be reached. In just a few hours, only two outcos would remain. Either she'd die here among the countless others, or, if luck had any rcy, she'd fight through hell itself, reach the castle, and step through the portal said to lie within.
The way ho was there. So close she could almost feel it, yet so far that hope itself felt heavy as iron.
These past days, she'd often found herself staring toward that dark fortress on the horizon. Its jagged silhouette seed alive, watching them in silence, as though whatever monster lurked inside was studying their every move through the windows. Sotis Eleanor wondered if that gaze was real or just the shape of fear born from exhaustion.
And then ca the cruel doubt: what if it was all an illusion? What if the barrier projected a mirage, and the real castle lay sowhere else, closer perhaps, or infinitely farther away? Uncertainty was a slow poison. And ti, its executioner. They had six hours. Six hours to fight, survive, and reach the target. If they failed, death would be their only reward.
Eleanor descended from the archer's tower. The wooden planks creaked beneath her boots. The air was thick with smoke, frost, and tension. Around her, the camp stirred quietly, soldiers tightening straps, engineers checking ammunition, healers arranging herbs. Makeshift cannons dotted the terrain, crude but vital symbols of hope. Ballista towers rose like silent guardians, ready to tear apart anything that dared breach the barrier.
She walked slowly through it all, her eyes tracing every detail. Each placent, each adjustnt was the product of sleepless nights, plans redrawn, defenses rebuilt with what little strength and faith remained. When she reached the archers' division, they stood as one, their faces drawn but resolute.
"Thank you for everything, Professor Eleanor."
She paused for a breath before answering. "I only gave you a few pointers. The effort was yours."
The words were modest, but her voice carried sothing deeper. For weeks she had trained these young soldiers, shaped their discipline, sharpened their instincts. Now they stood before her, archers, students, comrades, ready to die beside her if it ca to that. One by one, they approached, offering gratitude not in grand speeches but in nods, faint smiles, quiet gestures.
Eugene ca running, his spear strapped to his back, his face slick with sweat and urgency.
"We've only got a few minutes left."
"Alright, I'll take my position."
A woman strode forward through the rows of archers, her steps confident, her silhouette traced by the pale torchlight. It was Layla. one of the most promising archers Eleanor had trained.
"Professor Eleanor, I owe you my deepest thanks for teaching to beco a better archer."
Eleanor regarded her calmly. She knew the girl well. Layla was one of the few people Luke actually interacted with, and for that reason, Eleanor had given her special attention during training.
"As I've told all of you before, I only give advice. You're the ones who draw the bow and hit the target."
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Before Layla could respond, a young archer ca stumbling up, face flushed and clutching a crumpled flower in his hands.
"P-Professor Eleanor, I wanted to—"
The words died halfway out of his mouth. It was a scene she'd already lived through several tis over the past few days. She knew exactly how it went.
"I-I wanted to—"
Eleanor sighed and arched a brow. "I'm not dead yet, so don't go throwing flowers on my coffin."
"N-no, professor, I actually wanted to—"
"I know. It was a joke." She gave him a faint smile, though her gaze stayed sharp. "Unfortunately, I can't accept, but thank you for your feelings."
The young man bowed his head, face burning. "R-right… I understand."
Eleanor tilted her head with a tired half-smile. "Still, you get points for effort. If you'd shown up with a necklace instead, you'd be marching into battle with a black eye."
He blinked, confused.
"Forget it. It's an inside joke," she muttered, already stepping away with brisk purpose, as if that small escape could ease the weight pressing on her chest.
"You seem pretty popular," Layla comnted, walking beside her.
"That was the eighth one today. I guess the promise of certain death gives people courage."
They walked side by side while Eugene followed a few paces behind, keeping an eye on the field as the last preparations took shape.
"And what about you, Layla? No confessions coming your way?" Eleanor asked.
Layla made a face. "C-confessions? No. I don't let anyone even try. n are all scumbags, and I've seen firsthand how scumbags act."
Eleanor laughed softly—short and sharp, like a bowstring snapping.
Layla, however, seed completely serious.
"I an it, professor. I t a real scumbag once. Talks to plants, of all things," she said, crossing her arms. "The worst kind."
Eleanor just shook her head and let the girl vent as they walked toward the archers' section. Layla talked the entire way, about the Scumbag, about broken promises and irritating habits. In a strange way, it was comforting. The conversation pulled Eleanor's mind away from the war waiting just beyond the horizon.
When they finally reached Layla's position, Eleanor wished her luck and stepped aside. Eugene moved up beside her again, walking with steady steps but a thoughtful look in his eyes.
"You're pretty popular with the students," he said, trying to sound casual.
Eleanor shrugged. "They've spent more ti with these last few months than with anyone else. A lot of archery simulations."
She adjusted her hood, pausing for a mont. "So of them even… confessed," she added, recalling the young archer from earlier. "That was the eighth one today alone. And in the past few weeks, there's been all kinds—soldiers from Bastion, civilians… I think the fear of dying gave them courage."
Eugene looked toward the fortress behind them, his gaze distant. "I think… maybe that's a good thing. You know, confessing to the people you like before you die."
Eleanor stopped, frowning slightly. "Don't tell you've done that with soone."
"No. But… I've thought about it."
He drew a deep breath, eyes shifting away. "Do you know if Allison and Luke… have sothing?"
Eleanor answered almost imdiately. "No."
Eugene raised an eyebrow. "Really? You said that awfully fast. I an, they're always together. They even spent days living alone in a cave before the war… you know how rumors start."
"Those two are emotional idiots. They know more about killing than they do about feelings. I'd call them dense, but honestly, it's just immaturity."
She sighed softly. "It's far more likely they spent that ti talking about skills, magic, and swords than anything romantic."
Eugene let out a shaky laugh, relief creeping into his tone. "B-but… do you think maybe one of them feels sothing for the other?"
Eleanor gave him a sidelong look, her expression almost maternal. "Eugene, you're asking very personal questions. But like I said, those two don't think about that kind of thing."
"I feel strangely relieved," he murmured, forcing a smile.
"That doesn't an that when one of them finally realizes what they feel, they'll accept it easily," she added quietly. "Each of them carries too many scars."
She paused, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
"Still, maybe I should go talk to her now," Eugene said, gathering a sudden burst of courage. "At least I could say sothing—"
"Not in a million years, Eugene."
Her response was instant, sharp, and absolute.
"You will never be reciprocated."
His voice cracked in disbelief. "Why? Because she's so kind of princess? I'll prove I'm worthy. I'll enlist in her family's army, I'll—"
He stopped when he caught her expression harden.
"You'll never be reciprocated," Eleanor said evenly, "because you've never actually spoken to Allison."
Eugene blinked, confused. "I don't understand."
She turned to face him, her tone calm but cutting—like an arrow striking clean through.
"You've been talking to Allison Rhiannon this whole ti. Not Allison. And if you've never spoken to Allison, then you never had even the slightest chance."
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