The morning air was tainted with blood, masking the sunrise in a desolate red. The screams of young men now scored a world that used to be serenaded by wildlife and nature.

The world was haunted by death, and he was the ghost that walked amidst the battlefield.

Death echoes with each broken footstep. He was the soldier that survived by staining his hands with the blood of others.  Now the battles and sieges were as countless as the stars in the sky.  He no longer knew life without fighting. Now he was merely a shell of a human as he flitted between the blade of life and death.

Oliver walked through the campsite and emotionlessly watched as the men scrambled to their feet to salute him. They called out to him, "General," with reverence in their eyes.  Yet they all seemed wary when they looked in the distance toward a grand tent in the middle of the open plains. 

Oliver nodded as a greeting.  His prestige did not waiver despite his worn clothes and lack of armor.  He walked tall and proud with two swords strapped to his back.

Quincey approached him with a sigh.  "The men fear you are going to your death."

Quincey Bell was always Oliver's right-hand man.  He was delivered to Oliver in a cage, a clumsy thief who was paying his dues. However, he proved to be irreplaceable on this battlefield. In the end, he had accompanied Oliver in this endless war, growing old alongside each other.  His once blonde hair had turned white, his blue eyes had dulled, and scars littered his once-attractive face. Two scars stood out more prominently than the others, an old wound from childhood that still decorated his chin. 

He looked intimidating but truly cared and worried for Oliver's wellbeing.  They were friends first before soldiers.

Oliver patted him lightly on the shoulder.  "It's nothing but a meeting between our four nations.  We all have suffered in this long war, so if we can commandeer at least an hour of peace, we will do so."

Quincey shook his head lightly.  "At this point, I wish that King of ours would just concede... Or die."

"Careful with your words.  You know his spies are everywhere." Oliver hissed while shooting him a dark look.  He glanced around and was relieved that no one was near them then.  As long as Oliver was alive, a war will always be fought. That was the King's solemn promise.

Oliver paused and looked up at the darkening clouds. The distorted light reflected off of the gruesome scar on the left side of his face.  A careless encounter with a sand drake destroyed his face and took his sight from his left eye. A patch covered the empty socket while his violet right eye pierced into the heavens above. 

"It's going to snow soon." He said quietly.  "If my Kardos estate in Wynter still stands, then the evergreens surrounding it will be covered in white. The lake in the back will soon freeze over, and the children will be able to skate across it..."

As he turned older, he became nostalgic, missing his old family home. But he had not laid eyes on the estate for nearly thirty years since he was ordered to go to war.

It was such a bitter war too.  It rivaled the great Eternal War of ancient times that razed the land for a century. This war seemed to be following the same lines as that cursed one. 

But such a pointless war like this deserved no name. It was simply 'The War', the nameless entity that shrouded the world and death.

Every time there was an end in sight, King Piers would incite another country and rally a new war.  But the one who suffered most was King Piers' kingdom of Bierze.  The land was ravished with little to no profit.  The only place thriving was the capital city, and the residents were ignorant of the desperation outside their high walls.

But the truth was, the kingdom was doomed to fall long ago.  This was the result of starting wars with three different countries at the same time.  Bierze was surrounded by enemies and was fated to disappear.  The only thing standing in the way of annihilation was General Oliver Kardos' tenacity.  His cunning and strategies have allotted years of freedom, but he was growing weary.

"Come. Let us meet our enemies." Oliver's emotions were turbulent, and his words weighed down on Quincey.

Oliver slowly walked to the tent, his steps revealing a heavy limp from an injury from a decade before. But this was something he was accustomed to.  Every inch of his body has suffered miserably, but he still fought tenaciously.

As he almost reached his destination, a dapper looking man approached him with a haughty sneer. "General Oliver.  I am Trent Lamariel, and I have come on King Piers' behest to be a part of these negotiations."

Oliver laughed lightly.  "When did the King become so candid with his spies?"

Trent blanched. "General!  Such blasphemous words!"

Oliver waved his hand carelessly.  "Enough.  I know you're delivering the King's decision for the peace talks.  Spit it out already."

"You should have more respect for his wise words."

Oliver scoffed. "Hurry up."

Trent clicked his tongue. "Our enmity is too strong. We will not see peace."

Oliver sighed heavily. "Of course, he would say that.  Those who hide behind armies will always hold pointless grudges."

"This is why you'll die soon, General," Trent said in a dark voice, making Oliver and Quincey pause.

Oliver clenched his hand and then released it. "I see.  So he is finally considering my end... It's about time."

He started to walk towards the tent again with Quincy behind him. "Come, little rat, or I will leave you behind."

He reached the tent and walked inside. He saw three other men sitting at a table with their second-in-command standing next to them.  Oliver examined the renowned Generals.

Savvi Tuah of the Southern Empire of Abrorg, home of the tacticians. 

Gallio Commodus of the Eastern Holy Empire of Osmela, where the whispers of magic lingered.

The General Draco of the Northern Empire of Rucrea, the dragon lands.

Draco and Oliver had the greatest tacit understanding since they had been opponents for nearly twenty years.  He had never seen his face as it was always hiding under a mask and hood, but his red ruby eyes always glowed in the shadows.  Red eyes were the sign of dragon blood which only Rucrean nobility bore.  There were stories that those of the royal bloodline could awaken dormant shapeshifting abilities and turn into true dragons, but this was merely a legend. Draco was enshrouded by mystery, much like the rest of the Rucrean empire.

However, a decade ago, the terrible Ravager bandits of the north invaded and massacred the people of Rucrea while Draco and his army had fought against Oliver. Now, only the remnants of Rucrea remain and they choose to fight alongside Draco.  They were the last of Rucrea, and Draco's red eyes proved that he was the last of noble blood.

Draco must have been a part of a duchy like Oliver before the prolonged war.  However, he had fought a fierce battle with a Hydra, and the beast sliced his throat.  He somehow managed to save his life, but he lost the ability to speak.  He had been living silently for as long as Oliver had been fighting this war. Now he remains hooded with a mask covering the lower half of his face.

Oliver nodded towards them and moved to sit down, but the undesirable Trent opened his mouth and pointed towards Draco.  "How presumptuous?  Do you dare cover your face in the middle of discussions?  Do you disrespect our King so much that you choose to hide who you are?"

Oliver groaned inwardly because the naive brat did not feel the killing intent that enshrouded the tent.  He turned a threatening gaze at the young man.  "Little rat, you will be the shortest-lived spy if you open your mouth again."

Trent glared, feeling empowered by the invisible protection from King Piers. "You're just a feral dog, so you have no right to speak to me like that.  I am the King's eyes and ears, so this soldier shouldn't have the gall to hide his face in front of me."

Oliver laughed, stretching the scar across his face.  "I may be a dog, but you're nothing but a dispensable plaything. Your king fucked you, grew tired of you, and threw you to his dog like table scraps."

Trent took a step back, but Oliver's hand quickly reached out and grabbed him by the throat.  He pulled him close until he was inches away from Oliver's unsightly scar.  "His king allowed him to cover his wounds and guard his pride, while Bierze's king commanded me never to cover my scars so I can openly bear my shame.  Do not admonish others because their king is kinder than yours."

He pushed the young man away and made his way toward a chair.  Trent shuddered.  "I...  I will report your disrespect.  You will regret your actions today."

Oliver sat down in his chair and sighed.  If Trent had threatened him with death, then that means that the King had already decided to get rid of him. His fate was sealed.  He will be dying soon.

"I regret many things, child.  This is not worth mentioning on my list."  He turned back towards him. "Go.  Report my crimes."

Trent stormed out of the tent, letting Oliver sink deeply in the chair with a sigh, and gently pulled at a silver necklace that had always sat on his neck.  His fingers ran across the plain white stone and brushed across the silver inlay of the Kardos sigil; two crossed swords with a crescent moon sitting between the blades.  His mother had given it to him a long time ago before he headed off to war.  It was another piece of home that left him nostalgic. 

"I apologize, Draco.  The King's discarded lover is quite a brave one this time." He said lightly, but his voice was filled with difficult emotions. 

Draco nodded, showing his understanding. 

Gallio tilted his head.  "Why do you still fucking serve that asshole?"

Oliver's lips curled upward when he heard the harsh language. Gallio was a General of Osmela, a renowned holy priest slated to become pope, yet his actions and words were too contradictory to his station in the church.

Savvi snorted. "He doesn't care about the king; he just likes a good fight.  Isn't that right?"

Quincey clenched his jaw. "You know nothing, General Savvi.  If that King didn't hold on to Oli's weakness—"

"Quincey." Oliver interrupted him, and his face fell a little.

Over thirty years ago, he was engaged to Piers Belelot, the Crown Prince at the time. They cared for each other at one point, but Piers' love was short-lived before he started to warm his bed with other men. 

However, Oliver was lovelorn and hotheaded, which made him unlikable. Therefore, he gained no sympathy when Piers publicly broke the engagement with him and humiliated him.  Although Oliver should have returned North to Wynter, he remained in the capital and tried winning Piers back through many means, including seduction and backhanded schemes.  When that didn't work, he focused on studying and learning everything he could to be a good leader.  He hoped to garner Piers' affection, but even a dedicated attitude was not enough.

Suddenly, Piers announced his engagement to Oliver's younger brother, Ewen. Oliver was heartbroken that his brother won Piers' heart.  However, Piers met Oliver privately and told him he was holding Ewen hostage.  He threatened to make Ewen's life miserable if Oliver didn't disappear.

Oliver complied and went home to the Kardos duchy in the North.

However, this was not enough to appease Piers' paranoia.  He believed that Oliver would try and steal the throne from him, and he started to reveal a manic personality.  It became so bad that Piers started a war because a noble from Abrorg insulted him.  He found his chance to push Oliver further away and ordered him to go to war. Oliver was frightened at first and tried to reason with Piers, but then he was condemned further to remain on the frontlines until the war ended. He was never allowed to return home until he was permitted to. 

Permission to return never came, and the war was prolonged to the point that there was no end in sight.

Thirty years later, he knew nothing about his home. The drafted soldiers provided the same answer over the years; Wynter had closed its borders long ago. He hoped his parents retreated home and removed themselves from politics peacefully.  He had sent countless letters to his parents and brothers, Conrad and Avery, but never received a reply.  Still, he sends a letter once a year with a sliver of hope that he will hear something from them.

He now only knows about Ewen because he sits on the throne as Piers' Royal Consort.

Oliver crumpled a little.  "Friends of the battlefield... I am tired."

•••••• A/N ••••••

Hello, lovelies, and welcome! Thank you for stopping by and giving this novel a chance! 

I was really bad with author notes in this novel, so this will be one of the few.  If you need me to add something or explain a thought process, just let me know through my inbox or comments.

Because of some health concerns that I am recovering from (and some serious writer's block that I'm still kind of struggling with), releasing this took a lot longer than I hoped. For those who may have waited for a new novel from me, thank you for you patience. 

If you have read my other novels, you know that I normally hit you hard with the romance/flirting right out the gate.  I had planned on the same for this one, but it completely changed while writing this.  A Ghost's Wish will have romance (I promise), but it will take some time.

However, I did wait until I had most of this written so I can push for daily updates to help move it along.

I hope you will enjoy!

My last note: I will be mentioning the other kingdoms quite a bit, so I added a map for visual reference. You may not be able to see this if you are reading A Ghost's Wish offline.