The fog settled low over the western borders. The ground, soaked in blood, was still smoking.
There was the sound of metal hitting metal in the distance—the scouts from the Republic of Terradorn were close.
Minato stood at the edge of the hill, a scarf draped over his shoulders. Below him, a small unit of fifteen soldiers was preparing for an ambush.
Niya stood next to him, her hand on the hilt of her kunai knife, trying to hide her uneasiness. This was her first real mission outside the camp.
"Are you afraid?" Minato asked quietly, not turning around.
"No…I'm just listening," she replied. "The wind whispers before it blows."
Minato smiled.
"Good. Because today, we have to listen to everything—even the silence."
________________________________________
Moments later, a Terradorn scout entered the valley.
Their captain signaled with his hand. The soldiers scattered in the fog.
Minato raised his hand.
The shadow moves — the fire flashes.
The first blow was quiet, precise.
Out of the darkness, a red flame erupts from his palm, forming an arc—and transforms into a sharp wave of fire that cuts through the enemy ranks.
Nija, taken aback, takes a step back.
She had never seen anyone use fire like that.
Not as a weapon — but as a dance.
Minato moved among the enemies with the calmness of an old master, his katana shrouded in embers. Every movement was calculated, almost silent—but deadly.
One of the enemies ran towards Nia, but she crouched, ready to strike—but Minato appeared in front of her, blocking the sword with his shoulder.Fire erupted from his body like an explosion.
The enemy collapses, and Minato just mutters:
"No one touches those under my banner."
Nia looked at the blood on his shoulder, and then the flames smoldering in his eyes.
It wasn't just strength.
It was a burden.
________________________________________
When the battle was over, smoke rose above them.
The air smelled of metal and ash.
Niya walked over to Minato as he was cleaning the blade.
"Why… did you protect me? You could have died."
He looked at her.
"If you're afraid of losing — you don't deserve to lead people. And if you stop feeling… then you're already dead."
Nia stared at him, her eyes shining with the fire that was smoldering in his.
"That's why they call you son of flame," she whispered.
Minato just smiled, softly, with a slight tiredness in his voice.
"No… they just call me a soldier who can't stop."
The wind blew through the valley, blowing the ash.
Nia realized then — that war will not only remember the heroes, but also those who burned while trying to save the world.
Late at night.
The wind howled through the camp, bringing with it the smell of smoke and blood.
The moon stood high over the valley—pale, shrouded in a gray haze.
The soldiers were sleeping, exhausted.
Only the flames of a few torches fought the darkness.
In the center of the camp, in a tent draped with the crimson flags of the Pyra Solinaris Empire, Minato sat alone.
The katana lay in his lap, and his right shoulder was wrapped in a bloody cloth.
He was smoking a cigar in silence, the smoke slowly coming out of his mouth, disappearing in the light of the candle flame.
His eyes were tired, but clear — they were looking somewhere far away, over the walls, over the war.
The curtain on the tent moved quietly.
Nia entered, carrying a bowl of water and clean bandages.
Her steps were quiet, almost inaudible.
"You should have told me you were wounded," she said calmly, looking down.Minato smiled slightly, not turning around.
"Just a scratch. You get used to it in time."
"To the pain?" Nia asked.
"To the war," he answered, with a long puff of smoke.
________________________________________
Niya came closer to him, knelt next to him and carefully unwrapped the bandage.
The bloody wound on her shoulder was deeper than she expected.
She didn't say anything — she just looked down and started cleaning.
Her hands were shaking, but not from fear… but from something else, unknown.
"You… are no ordinary soldier, Minato," he whispered softly. "There is no fear in your eyes, no hatred. Just… something else. It's like you carry fire, but not to burn, but to protect."
Minato paused, then slowly turned to face her.
His eyes, in the half-shadow of the flames, were deep and tired.
"A fire burns as long as it has something to defend," he said quietly. "And when you lose everything… it just starts eating away at the inside."
Nia looked down.
For a moment, silence filled the tent.
Just the crackling of the flame and the sound of the wind hitting the canvas.
Minato took the cigar out of his mouth, put it out and slowly stood up.
He moved closer to her—enough to feel her breath, but not her touch.
He put his hand on her shoulder.
"Rest, Nia. Tomorrow it will burn again."
Nija looked up, her eyes shining for a moment in the candlelight.
He smiles slightly—for the first time since they met.
"Just… don't burn yourself," he whispered, almost silently.
Minato smiled, but there was no happiness in that smile—only heaviness.
He turned around, opened the tent and let the cold air in.
The moon illuminates his figure as he walks off into the darkness.
Nia remained watching after him, holding a bloody bandage in her hands.
A silent thought forms on her lips —
"He was not made to survive this war… but because of him many others will survive."