Salvation of The Scum Fifth Prince

[85 - honour; the meaning to battle]

A body smashed into him mid-fall, sending him flying across the air, high above the battles below and crashing through another wall. Sharp jolts of pain ran through his bones as he groaned, feeling the sand uncomfortably crumble along his back.

"What is this..." muttered Soren, as he shoved the lump off him, groaning.

A mop of pink hair roared out a laughter, far louder than any of the clattering sounds in the background. Celine fell to her back after being shoved off, breathing heavily. "Seriously, prince. I had to get a running start, and I wasn't even sure I'd make it."

"And why did you start running?"

"By the Lord, did you think I'd just let you fall?" Celine shook her head with a huff. "I'd be murdered alive by that fox kid of yours. Which doesn't sound appealing, by the way."

"Where's Vendra?"

She glanced outside, a tinge of worry flashing so fast, he almost didn't notice it. However, when she caught the prince looking, she smiled without hiding her fears. The woman she loved could die, and that thought terrified her. There was no shame in that thought; she would wear it proud on her face.

'These are the feelings only she can give me.'

"She wanted to prioritize keeping our soldiers alive, so she's running all over the place. Less fighting, more healing. It suits her, it does."

"It does."

"What is your plan, prince?" asked Celine, lifting her golden eyes to meet his dead-on, solemnly staring. "It may be hypocritical coming from me, but I am tired of watching them die. Any of them."

All the people below. The soldiers that chose to fight, their group that fought for the world, and the enemy that fought for their leader. The enemy that some fought without choice, manipulated by sweet words and promises. By delusions.

Two choices.

Soren could choose to forget, and protect his own self from losing control of the overload of memories from the Death God, a hundred lifetimes worth of loneliness and quiet suffering in the silent skies, in pitch black where nothing could find him. What emotions would he find locked away in those memories, and how would they destroy him?

He wondered, but couldn't find an answer.

And after he forgot, what then? He'd save himself, but what would become of this battle? Of the Third Religion leader's desires that wouldn't stop at just murdering everybody here?

Or he could choose to remember, to remember and accept the same fate. Prevent the Third Religion leader from gaining what he desired, as Lydia wanted him to. And perhaps that would bring an end to this, or an end to the future tragedy that may come.

The present, however, had an endless amount of possibilities.

A shout snapped them out of their conversations from a side window, large enough for a person to stand as it oversaw whatever was happening on the ground. "What nonsense! You are not our leader, Prince Vincent!"

A low voice responded, on the verge of snapping, with no room for mercy. "Your King is dead."

"That's wrong!"

Soren's eyebrows gradually knitted together, glancing over at Celine, who also looked worried. She sighed, running calloused and dirty fingers through her hair roughly. "I thought I heard he decided to bring the army with him. They're loyal to their country, to their King, some of them. Idiots, is what they are. Unfortunately, your lovely older brother has a limited amount of power."

"He is the First Prince. The entire kingdom respects him."

"Yeah, well. There are plenty that don't, envious of his ability. Jealousy doesn't kill until you let it. And they've let it. Consume them to the point they can't respect him, that they can only doubt his decisions that dragged them into this bloody fight to begin with." She shrugged.