Eritu’s Defeat Part 1 - The Warrior’s Retreat

Over distant hills covered with smoldering grass a slender figure was running steadily. Sixteen miles had been covered by this man’s weary feet already. He was skipping over the fieldstones and short-stepping over the puddles of blood. The man’s eyes were pouring water that cleansed his brown skin of filth and war-scarring. He was breathing with a metallic taste in his mouth as he cleared the battlefield, nearing his goal.
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The people to whom this man, Eritu, belonged were all but completely dead. He was not sure whether he was the only one left. Eritu had been fighting alongside his comrades for several days now, and had escaped death several times – as its sword was swinging for his neck. Cowards did not belong to his family, but he thought himself one, because he eventually tired of battle and hid until the fighting had passed farther into his country. Free of any risk of being captured, several hours later, he had risen and began running toward the only fortress he knew of.
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He was now so close to his goal, the indefatigable King, that he could see the King’s glory. He winced, not because of the pain his muscles felt, but because the goodness of this legendary King was intense. Eritu had never before visited the King, he had only heard of him in stories. And, as all young warriors are told, he was to go to the King if his people were at an end. This King fought not with swords and bullets, but with goodness that no man could understand. Eritu would have peace when behind this great King. As he neared the fortress he saw that there was no actual physical structure for the Ruler to live in. But yet this place was the King’s palace – as real as any palace that we can see with our eyes and hands – only, Eritu could not touch this palace, he would find that he could only be there, and that his senses would prove useless to detect the fortress’ boundaries.