Arcane Warfare: From the Ashes of a Disposable Soldier

"We hadn't introduced ourselves yet. The name's Ivan," he said, offering a tired smile as he stretched his legs near the fire.

"You can call me Cedar," Cedar replied with a curt nod. His tone was guarded, but there wasn't any hostility, it was just habit.

 Names, after all, had little weight when death hovered so close. Still, he appreciated the attempt to shift the mood.

 Ivan leaned back, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "You ever wonder what it'll all look like when this is over? If it ever ends, I mean."

 Cedar didn't answer immediately. He had heard the question before—too many times. It was a soldier's favorite pastime, imagining a future where the fighting stopped.

 But to Cedar, the question had always felt like a trap, a dangerous thing to dwell on when survival demanded focus. Still, something in Ivan's voice made him pause.

"Never really thought about it," Cedar finally said, his tone clipped. "Wars like this... they don't just stop. They shift."

"You sound like my old man. He used to say the same thing. That peace is just the absence of fighting, not the absence of hate."

 Cedar shook his head, his gaze fixed on the flickering fire.

"Peace is just a pause," he said, his voice low but firm. "A breath before the next storm. It's always the leaders who decide: when to wage war, when to end it. To them, we're nothing more than pawns, expendable pieces on a board. War doesn't truly end. It just waits, hidden in the cracks of whatever fragile peace they let us have."

 As the fire crackled between them, the conversation drifted into safer territory—small talk.

 Ivan circled back to the anti-magic bullets, clearly impressed Cedar had managed to scavenge such rare items.

"Must've been some officer you took those from," Ivan said, eyeing the weapon Cedar had set aside.

"Not really," Cedar replied, his voice as flat as the cavern floor. "Dead is dead, no matter the rank. Found them on a battlefield. Thought they'd be better used in my hands than his. Though I won't lie, if the corpse had belonged to a major, I might've taken the rank along with the rounds."

 Ivan whistled softly, shaking his head. "Still. Those rounds… they're something else. I've seen shields go down like paper against them. Makes me wonder why they didn't just arm everyone with them."

 Cedar shrugged. "Too expensive, I guess. Hard to make, even harder to replace. That's how it always is, right? The good stuff's reserved for the ones calling the shots."

 Ivan smirked at that, but there wasn't any humor in his eyes. "Figures."

 Cedar picked up one of the bullets, holding it between his fingers. It gleamed faintly in the firelight, its surface etched with intricate runes that seemed to shimmer faintly.

"Craftsmanship like this didn't come cheap," he muttered, more to himself than Ivan.

"They say each one's inscribed by a craftmage, and that the process takes hours. Maybe days."

 Ivan whistled again, low and impressed. "And here I thought they were just fancy bullets."

"Fancy enough to tear through shields," Cedar said, turning the bullet over in his fingers, the runes catching the firelight. "But that's all they're good for. They punch through barriers and maybe incapacitate a mage if you're lucky, but they're just tools. Expendable ammunition."-like us, Cedar thought to himself.

 He set the bullet down beside him, his expression darkening slightly as he continued.

"The real valuable stuff? Antimage weapons. The kind that didn't just poke a hole in a shield but tore through magic itself—spells, wards, curses, you name it. They didn't just disable magic; they broke it, shattered it like glass."

 Ivan leaned forward, his interest piqued, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Antimage weapons, huh? I saw a few in storage once or twice, but never in action. Heard stories, though. A blade that could nullify spells mid-cast, grenades that left entire squads of mages helpless."

 Cedar nodded, his eyes distant as if recalling something from a time he'd rather forget.

"They existed, all right. I saw them in action. There was this one—an antimage lance—during a skirmish in the eastern valleys. The wielder took down an entire mage battalion with it. Their shields? Useless. Their spells? Turned to ash before they could finish casting. It wasn't just a weapon; it was a statement. A harsh reminder that no amount of magic made you invincible."

"That kind of power… it's hard to wrap your head around. Makes you wonder why they didn't put those weapons in everyone's hands."

 Cedar's lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. "Because power like that came with a price. Those weapons weren't just rare. They were volatile. Dangerous even to the ones wielding them. And let's be real: you think the higher-ups would trust soldiers like us with something that could turn the tide of a battle? No. They'd rather keep it locked away, reserved for their elites or 'special missions.' They were terrified of losing control."

 Ivan leaned back again, his expression thoughtful.

"Guess that makes sense. Still, imagine what someone like us could do with a weapon like that. Level the playing field. Maybe even change the game."

 Cedar shook his head, his tone heavy.

"Change the game? Sure. But not the way you think. The problem with weapons like that is they didn't end wars; they escalated them. The moment you brought something like an antimage weapon onto the battlefield, everyone else scrambled to match it—or destroy it."

"So, what? They're more trouble than they're worth?"

"Depends on who's holding them," Cedar said, his voice quieter now, almost to himself.

"But in the end, it's always the same. Weapons don't decide wars. People do. And the people who made those decisions? They didn't care about the ones out here dying for it."

 To steer clear of any more gloomy moments, Cedar shifted the subject by sharing more about how he had survived.

 He stuck to the shadows, avoided open conflict whenever possible, and always scavenged for useful items. It wasn't much, but it was enough to fill the silence and keep their minds off the chaos outside.

"You've got a knack for it," Ivan said, his tone genuine. "Not just surviving but adapting. That's rare."

 Cedar shrugged again, unfazed by the praise. "Adapt or die. That's all it is."

 Eventually, Ivan leaned back against the cave wall, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. "We should rest," he murmured, his voice trailing off. "Tomorrow… who knows what we'll have to face."

 Cedar nodded, the ache in his body finally catching up to him. They both settled into their sleeping bags, the lingering heat of the fire casting a faint orange glow across the rocky walls.

 The night had grown quieter now, filled only with the distant sounds of the forest. An owl hooted softly, its call echoing through the darkness.

 The occasional snap of a twig reminded them that the world outside was still alive, though it felt distant and foreign.

 As Cedar lay there, staring up at the uneven cave ceiling, his thoughts began to drift. He thought of the soldier whose belongings he had scavenged earlier, about the necklace, the photograph tucked inside the pocket of the jacket he now wore.

 A family, smiling, frozen in a moment of happiness that no longer existed. Cedar had tossed the picture aside, telling himself it didn't matter, but the image lingered in his mind, a stubborn ghost.

"Do you think it matters?" Ivan's voice cut through the stillness, soft and hesitant.

 Cedar turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting Ivan's in the dim light. "What?"

"Any of this," Ivan continued his voice barely above a whisper. "Fighting, surviving… does it matter in the end? Or are we just prolonging the inevitable?"

 Cedar exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the question more than he expected. "I don't know," he admitted after a long pause. "Maybe it doesn't matter at all. Perhaps we're just clinging to whatever scraps of life we can find..."

 He paused again. "But what's the alternative? Giving up?"

 Ivan didn't answer right away. When he did, his words were almost lost in the crackle of the dying fire. "I guess not."

 The quiet returned, wrapping around them like a blanket.

 Cedar closed his eyes, willing himself to shut out the memories, the questions, the doubts.

 Tomorrow would come, and with it, more fighting, more death. But for now, they had this fleeting moment of calm.

 And for tonight, at least, that would have to be enough.