Capítulo 33: War In My Mind

The day Axel was called back to the front lines felt like an ominous cloud descending over the palace. The summons came abruptly, shattering the fragile peace they had found in each other's company. Lila watched as Axel donned his armor, his expression a mix of determination and regret.

"I'll be back before you know it," he promised, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Just make sure you come back in one piece," Lila replied, her voice laced with forced nonchalance, masking her underlying anxiety.

Axel chuckled, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "I always do."

And then he was gone, riding out with his retinue, leaving Lila standing in the courtyard, feeling a strange emptiness settle over her.

Days turned into weeks, and the weeks stretched into months. At first, Axel's letters came regularly, filled with updates about the war and affectionate reassurances. Lila clung to these letters, reading them over and over again, finding solace in his words. She wrote back with equal fervor, sharing snippets of life at the palace, her thoughts, and her feelings.

But then, halfway through the campaign, the letters stopped.

Lila tried to rationalize it. The war must have intensified, leaving Axel with no time to write. Perhaps the supply lines were disrupted, preventing his letters from reaching her. Yet, as days without word turned into weeks, her worry grew. She visited the war room daily, hoping for news, but there was nothing.

The emperor's condition worsened during this period, casting an additional pall over the palace. Empress Lamaine's presence became even more oppressive, her machinations more apparent as she subtly maneuvered to consolidate power. Lila found herself caught between worry for Axel and the increasingly volatile political situation at home.

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After the brief respite at the palace, Axel found himself back on the battlefield. The transition from the serene gardens of the palace to the chaos of war was jarring. The air was thick with smoke, the ground slick with mud and blood. The sounds of clashing steel and agonized screams filled his ears, a stark reminder of the brutality that awaited him.

Axel rode at the forefront of his troops, his expression hardened into a mask of cold determination. The scenes he encountered were harrowing: men writhing in pain, bodies strewn about like broken dolls, the air heavy with the stench of death. Each day brought new horrors, new traumas that etched themselves into his psyche.

One particularly gruesome day, Axel found himself in the midst of a fierce battle. He fought relentlessly, his sword an extension of his will, cutting through enemies with precision. But as the day wore on, he witnessed something that would haunt him forever.

A young soldier, barely more than a boy, lay dying on the ground. His eyes, wide with terror and pain, locked onto Axel's. The boy reached out a trembling hand, his lips forming silent pleas. Axel knelt beside him, trying to offer comfort, but the boy's life slipped away, his eyes glazing over in death. The futility of it all struck Axel like a physical blow.

The battle raged on around him, but something inside Axel shifted. The horror, the constant death, the unending carnage—it all became too much. He felt a coldness settle over his heart, numbing him to the pain, the fear, the humanity of it all.

From that moment, Axel moved through the battlefield like a specter, his actions precise but devoid of emotion. He became a force of nature, his focus solely on the task at hand. The men around him noticed the change, whispering about his newfound ruthlessness, his seemingly unbreakable resolve.

Weeks turned into months, and the war dragged on. Axel's letters to Lila became less frequent, the words harder to find. The battlefield had consumed him, leaving little room for the tender feelings he once cherished. He missed her, but he couldn't afford to think about her. Not when every moment was a fight for survival.

He witnessed horrors that would break a lesser man. Villages razed to the ground, families torn apart, comrades falling beside him. Each loss, each moment of agony, added another layer to the cold stone encasing his heart. He no longer saw the enemy as people, but as obstacles to be overcome, threats to be eliminated.

One night, as he sat by the campfire, staring into the flames, a soldier approached him. "Your Highness, we've received word from the palace. The emperor's condition is worsening."

Axel barely reacted, his eyes never leaving the fire. "And?"

The soldier hesitated, sensing the chill in Axel's tone. "They... they fear he may not last much longer."

Axel nodded slowly, the news barely registering. "Thank you for informing me."

The soldier left, leaving Axel alone with his thoughts. The news should have elicited some emotion—sadness, anger, concern—but there was nothing. He felt empty, a hollow shell of the man he once was. The battlefield had taken everything from him, leaving only the cold, unfeeling warrior behind.

A year had passed since Axel had returned to the battlefield, and the war showed no signs of ending. The once vibrant prince had become a hardened warrior, leading his men with an unyielding resolve. His presence on the battlefield was both a source of inspiration and a reminder of the grim reality they faced daily.

During rare moments of respite, Axel found solace in an unexpected place: painting. His tent, typically a place of strategy and planning, had one corner dedicated to this newfound passion. A half-finished canvas stood on an easel, depicting a serene garden. However, the most striking feature of the painting was the central figure—a woman with no face.

One evening, as the soldiers gathered outside his tent, discussing their next move, Axel remained focused on his painting. His brush moved with deliberate strokes, adding details to the woman's flowing dress and the vibrant flowers surrounding her.

"Your Highness," Lieutenant Lionel, one of his lieutenants called, stepping into the tent. "The men are waiting for your advice on the next course of action."

Axel didn't look up from his painting. "For some reason, I feel at ease looking at my painting," he said softly, his eyes fixed on the canvas.

The lieutenant approached, studying the painting closely. "It's beautiful, sir. But how come that woman has no face?"

Axel paused, his brush hovering in mid-air. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice tinged with melancholy. "Perhaps I can't remember what she looks like."

"Who?" The lieutenant asked.

"I don't know." Axel replied.