May This Message Find You.

Everything was a blur. Shades and colors bleeding into one-another, all a part of a chaotic canvas that blinded Daniil Grigorev. He had taken another hefty blow to the head. The bitter taste of iron soaked his tongue, and the scent of burnt steel and ash filled his nostrils. The muffled sounds of gunfire and clashing steel made it difficult to focus. Blood was running down the side of his face, from a recently opened wound. Yet there was no pain. Every sensation dulled to its bare minimum. He blinked, and for a moment the blur ceased to be, a snapshot made itself clear. He saw her. The angel towering above him. Its cold, dead eyes fixated on him. Daniil tried to stand back up, but couldn't find the strength to even lift a finger.

So this was how he would meet his end? Staring blankly into the eyes of an angel at swordpoint? He spat at his would be killer, staining its pure white with flecks of deepest crimson. He stared in defiance at the abomination towering above him. Felt its foot squeeze down on his chest. His already labored breaths turned hoarse as his ribs began to slowly give way. His job as Marshal was over. But he had served his people proudly, despite knowing that this day would eventually come. Now, at life's end, he welcomed it.

The angel raised its bloodied blade once more to claim another life. Another Marshal. Daniil, being at peace with his lot in life, closed his eyes, happily knowing his death would save so many others. This was why he fought. Why others picked up the blade like he had.

They died, so that many others may live.

---------------------------------

"Rodion, my son... I hope this message finds you well. For I have, unfortunately, passed away." Rodion stared at the old casette player on the table. That was his father's voice. He sounded old and tired. "We both knew this day would come, and now it has. I'm sorry I had to break the news this way, but... You know how it is at the Southern Wall." The old man paused. Knowing him, he was probably taking a smoke from his cigarr. "Marshal Sorokin died last week, and I... I'm supposed to take his place as the next Marshal. I will not make it back, and for that I'm sorry. I wish we could've spent more time together." Rodion paused the recording. He had listened to this message more times than he could bother to count. Did it even matter? Hesitantly, after collecting himself again, he pressed play again. "I hope you're proud of your papa. I know I'm proud. Proud to serve the Heart, and protecting you. Knowing I'm passing on for a good cause makes it easier. Anyway, I'm getting off track." Nothing but radio static filled the otherwise empty air for a while. "I'm... proud of you. Proud to have been your father. I know I wasn't the best. Hell, I'd argue I wasn't even that good. But I'm proud regardless. Your future makes this a sacrifice worth taking. You will one day lead the people of our home out of this hellhole, and onto greener pastures. I'm sure of it. So don't lose hope, Rodion. While your old man is no longer here, live. For the sake of the Heart, LIVE." The old man sighed. "I... I have to go now. Farewell, my son."

The cassette player stopped with a faint *click*, leaving Rodion in silence again. Daniil and his son had never really been on the best of terms, and still, this message... this final message from his father hurt to listen to. Such pain he had to endure. But he couldn't allow himself to forget his father's voice. It was all he had left. It was his guide and crutch. His own salvation. One day he would overcome this grief. One day. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day, he would have to. He needed to be strong, so that the People of the Heart could leave.


Away from pain, loss, and suffering...

A way out of Heaven. No matter the cost.