“Private Adamsburg, sir,” Marlowe yelled, standing tall in front of the Sergeant. His face was stern, eyes squinting down at her badge on her uniform. His regiment followed behind him silently. The Royal Combat Unit were some of Itome’s elite fighters, all gifted with a magical ability. Each soldier was hand-picked by the King of Itome to win the last battle of the war.
She had never wanted a war to happen, tensions were always high with Iyena because of their totalitarian government. But Marlowe had foolishly hoped that she’d never see a war in her time. Until a family from Italian Nobility was executed on live television for all to see, on charges of spying despite being diplomats.
“I was assigned to your regiment this morning, after the death of your Healer, sir,” Marlowe explained, her posture unmoving as the Sergeant nodded his head. He nodded his head and made space for her to join the ranks. As she made her way into the regiment, she felt her stomach sink. Her gaze flickered from face to face, she recognized these people. This was her fiance’s unit. The one that left months ago when Iyena first waged war on Itome.
Abel had been hesitant to join the war with Marlowe; they had spent days after Iyena's declaration of war in their home country fighting and arguing over the best course of action. She remembered the day vividly, when Abel agreed to join the ranks with her.
“I won't let you go out there alone, Mar. If we die, we die together.” He whispered, that night he got on one knee and proposed. But war was not kind, and didnt wait for love. They were separated on their first assignment. She’d spend days and camp waiting for a letter, or a message to be sure he was alive. But none ever came. She refused to let the sick idea that he was dead ruin her work, so she begged any god that would listen that they would find eachother again after the war. That he would come home to her.
Her head swiveled around desperately at the other soldiers around, until across the unit she connected with brown eyes she knew all too well. Abel looked back at her, his eyes screaming all the words he could not say. She felt her heart skip a beat, eyes teary as the Sergeant called the regiment to attention.
“First Magic Infantry Division of Itome!” he barked out. “We will begin operation Meorr momentarily, you all have been briefed on the enemy and the plan for this battle. This, if the gods allow, will be our last attack on Iyena. If everything goes to plan this will win the war. The portals will be opening shortly, ready your weapon and your very souls.” With a wave of his hands, he sent the division off. Marlowe quickly pivoted around, looking for Abel. But he was already there. He reached out to wrap his arms around her frame, face buried in her curls. He smelled of oranges and spring, like their home before the war. Around them the division broke out into whispers and prayers.
“Marlowe, you can't be here. This could be the last battle of the war, Iyena is fighting with everything they have. You have to leave. I can't watch you die in front of me,” He begged, taking her hands into his own.  She squeezed his hand, shaking her head.
“Abel, that's more of a reason to fight. This could be the last battle of the War!” His finger gently traced the engagement ring on her hand.
“Everything will go back to normal, we have to make this the last fight of the war,” She continued, Abel nodded his head silently. Because Iyena’s overspending on tanks and weapons, they hadn't had enough money to send food to their soldiers. Quickly, their lines began to fall because of overexertion. This line was the last one standing.
Hand in hand, they made their way to the front of the regiment where a tall woman with white hair stood at its head. A black, ghost-like creature curled around her arm. The Sergeant stood beside her stoically. His eyes glanced down at their intertwined hands. The woman took a step forward, clearing her throat.

“Hello soldiers, you are the king’s magic Division. Hand chosen by his royal highness to end their war and single-handedly crush Iyena’s final stand. I am Royal Military Sergeant Yazmina Taylor. I will be opening the portal to the war front. Please prepare your magic, and your weapons.” She gave the regiment a short bow. Marlowe felt her stomach churn as Abel gave her hand one final squeeze before letting it drop. His hands moved to grip the hilt of his sword. Her own moved to adjust her med-pack
“It's time, soldiers. When we open the portal you all must charge, we cannot let them get in.” She turned away from us, her arms making an arch above her head. Her hands create a black-smokey trail. From the trail emerged a dark portal, Yazmina jumped aside.
“Charge!” she cried out. The soldiers screamed in response and poured into the portal.
The clang of swords and metals pieced the air as Marlowe scrambled out of the portal. She forced her way past the hoards of people and bodies, the force tripping her. Her body rolled into a ditch. The Iyenan front was demolished. The rolling hills and landscape blown into massive piles of jagged rocks.
With her eyes to the sky, she tentatively picked up her sword. Heart thumping in her ears and chest. The sounds of screams and wailing seemingly surrounded her. The stench of blood and metal hung in the air. As she climbed back up the ditch, using the rocks as a foothold it only seemed to get worse. The bodies of soldiers, from all sides seemed to layer the ground.
As she pulled herself up and over, through the deafening noise, one voice rang loud and clear throughout the battlefield. A voice her heart knew all too well, the voice that would whisper sweet nothings in her ears, a voice of someone who laughed and praised her.
“Marlowe!” Abel screamed. Despite the fear in her body threatening to hold her back, down to the aggressive shaking of her hands. She forced herself up, brandishing her sword as she ran onto the field. She followed the sounds of his screams; the sound seemed to reverberate throughout her skull and down her body as she forced herself to run forward. Until she saw him.
He was sprawled out on the once lush Iyenan grass, with his hands wrapped around the sword that was pushed directly through his stomach. His dark red blood gushing from the wound made Marlowes stomach flip. She knelt beside him, panic settling in. 

“Abel, Abel it's me.. I’m here. I’ll fix this,” She whispered, propping his head up on her medic pack. He stared at her with glossy eyes, blood pouring from his mouth. He tried to speak, but the sound came out gurgled and thick.
“Don't waste your energy trying to speak. I can't have you wasting more energy. Please try to stay with me. This is going to hurt. But I need to do it so I can heal you.” Marlowe pleaded to him, hands wrapping around the broken blade of an Iyenan sword. Despite the searing pain of the metal cutting into her soft fingers, she wrapped her hand around the blade and pulled it from his abdomen with a sickening squelch. Quickly, she took her hands and pressed onto the wound.
In this moment, a memory seeped into her brain. Her thoughts went to her mother. She remembered her mother would always claim her power to heal others was a gift. Despite the other kids having stronger, more physical abilities. Mother would claim there was never a better gift from the gods than to heal. Instead Marlowe spent years as a swordsman, trying to compensate for her weak gift with an excellent fighting ability. But no sword could heal scrapes, or bruises, or life threatening injuries. A sword was a weapon of only destruction, but she wouldn't let it destroy her Abel. Her future. Marlowe focused the energy into her hands; the magic forcing the ripped muscle, skin, and tendons to fuse back together. Carefully smoothing the skin of the injury over. She made a silent prayer to the gods that the magic would quickly heal him, but, despite the magic, Abel continued to lay slumped against her med-pack.
She adjusted her uniform and somehow forced his heavy body onto the weight of her back. One of her hands stayed wrapped around his frame, the other brandishing the sword as she forced herself back into the battle, hiding behind the rubble and wreckage of the battlefield to make her way back to where the portal was.  Using her remaining strength to force the body of her lover back into the portal. She caught a quick glimpse of the infirmary nurses running to help him before the portal sealed itself shut.
The handle of the sword felt heavy but strong in her hands as she whipped herself back around and forced her body back into the battle. Following the screams of her comrades into the warzone so she could bring them all home