Wispy tendrils of smoke clutched at my boots like ghostly fingers as I trudged through the ashes of our new legacy; the air was still ablaze with the acrid smell of fire.

Behind, in front, and on either side of me lay the pitiful remains of human bodies. Warriors. Here and there, I spotted blood-encrusted hands and deeply scarred faces, barely recogniseable because of the soot that covered them. Nonetheless, they were identified - I could hear the wailing behind me.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see half-burned catapults slumped at the foot of a cliff. A glimmer of gold caught my eye and I traipsed over to it, nudging aside the bodies with my foot.

The gilt handle of someone's dagger protruded from a plank in one of the catapults. The many rubies and emeralds embedded in it were tarnished by dirt. It took me a few strong pulls to get it out; so deeply into the wood was it thrust.

It was sharp and very pointed. I lightly pressed my finger to the tip and rivulets of crimson streaked across the silver of the blade and dripped down to add to the mess at my feet. I could just make out a foreign inscription, leading all the way down from the hilt to the tip, etched into the middle of the blade.

I looked across the plains stretching out before me, taking in every detail that caught my eye and jogged my memory: the plume on one of their warrior's helmets; one of our ragged banners, flapping despondently in the slight breeze; the leftovers of charcoal trees that had sometime been so green and lively.

A pure white horse, one of theirs, lay writhing on the ground a few feet away from where I stood. I assumed its saddle had fallen off for its back was bare and bloody. Its mouth was stretched wide in a silent scream, as though it was hoping someone might come to the rescue; I could even see its eyes rolling into the back of its head.

I had been the one to slay its master. He had come charging out of the fighting throng, the hair on his helmet swinging wildly; he roared and pierced my likeness with his spear. The silver vest of mail our father bought turned out not to be enough to keep death out of Euleas's fragile heart.

And here was the warrior's dagger, as cold and desolate as its owner's body after I had dealt my stroke.

If the gems on the hilt were rubbed free of their grime, they would shine again; I, however, wrapped the accursed thing in rags and placed it in my knapsack.

Even though the leaden sky seemed to frown at me, and my bones to creak with every step I took, I willed myself to walk on. I kept my eyes on the ground until I noticed the enormous shadow of some edifice not far from me. I dared not hope as I lifted my eyes to look up at it.

What met my hapless eyes ought to have been reason enough not to have hoped. Though it was large and imposing, the fortress was crumbling and completely black. War had eaten away at what had not long ago been mighty walls. Yes, it was still standing, my home and that of my fathers'; but how could any life dwell within its hallowed walls now?

My ears pricked up at the sound of an unexpected voice, and my hand immediately flew to my sword. I crept to the cliff on the left side of my and pressed against it. I slowly inched closer to the fortress and, as I heard more shouting, my hand tightened on the hilt of my sword till my knuckled turned white. The sight I found on the south side of the edifice took my breath away.

The clean, green field before me and the bright, stone balconies rising above it were teeming with people, all occupied in some way or another: hay, weaponry and provisions were tossed up and down to those who needed any of them; surgeons and various other healers were busy administering their medicine to the wounded; and there was not a single woeful face in sight.

Those who leave their homes, kindred and every day lives to fight with others - how could they ever truly be the winners? What kinds of homes did their camps make?

The battle that had been fought on the fields behind me would not be the last, but we had already won every single one. We were home. We lived our lives here, and we could rebuild our lives. That is why we fought them - to resurrect ourselves.

Why did they fight us?