Contains mild spoilers for the game (which I highly recommend!). It is set in an AU where my sister and I have dug into the characters and mechanics of the world while sticking to the game's essence as much as possible. The biggest difference you'll see here is the names, which are the names my sister and I played the game with Demonia renamed to Purnia and Menos changed to Mentos.

The sun falls red on the plains before him, bathing the Mayenne River in blood and fire. Many small figures swarm the bridge and the field around it on both sides, waving flags, counting dead, gathering injured, moving bodies. Matchos sweeps his gaze around the fringes, searching each one for a familiar silhouette. None of the figures turn towards him; none skulk among the thick grasses in between him and the Emperor's army; none are Crown Prince Mentos.

Matchos closes his eyes, breathing in slow and deep as his heart constricts. He should have stayed behind. He should have ignored Mentos' order and helped him rescue Emblazoned. Even better, he should have split some of his own troop off and insisted that Mentos stay with them in the rear guard. He should have, but he didn't. Mentos gave an order and he followed it, just like he always does, just like he always should.

But now Mentos hasn't returned. Now there is a real, gut-wrenching possibility that Mentos might never return; that he is dead. That their Crown Prince, their General, is dead. It has always been a possibility—that is the nature of war—but it has never come this close, become this real, threatening to be undeniably true.

His heart constricts again and he struggles to make it beat and his lungs to breathe. Mentos, his Prince, his friend, his troop member, gone. How could this ever be? How could ever he, no, Purnia, go on with so great a Purmen missing? They—they do not even have his body or his rings to pass on; no proper way to part ways and lay him to rest. Bitterness, anger, revulsion, pain, everything rises within him and he turns his face away, teeth bared in the grimace of great grief.

It is too much to bear alone. Aye, he must return to his troop and share the burden of grief, tend to his Purmen, care for Mentos' little one Reno like he promised, but... His gaze drifts to the battlefield far away and the little dots of light marking the making of campfires in the quickly darkening twilight. The figures are harder to make out, but he still cannot see any turning towards him.

Perhaps Mentos is waiting for the full cover of night and will return soon. Perhaps he is taking the long way around and his movements are not visible from this hill. Perhaps he is laying low with the injured Emblazoned troop, waiting for their strength to return before risking crossing the no-man's land. Perhaps Mentos is still alive.

The tendrils of hope settle across his tense shoulders, tentative and far too weak, but he does not shake them away. He'll wait just a little longer, until only the stars light the sky. Then he will return to camp and his troop and resume his duties. He'll soothe Reno's worries—he is still too young to bear the burden of the reality of war and the fear of losing another parent—find salve for his own, and inform the King. He'll fight harder in the next battle, and before that, send out a search team if the King allows it. He'll keep on going like Mentos would and wait for his return.

And if he does not... Matchos' heart seizes again and the tentative hope flickers at his back, dimming until it is as faint as the first wink of stars in the sky. He takes a slow, measured breath and straightens, clenching his fists.

If Mentos does not return, he will let his grief fuel his punches and carve a hole in the Humans' ranks as large as the hole in his heart. He will lead his troop ever stronger, ever wiser, and together with the rest of Purnia end this bloody, futile war with the Humans running. He will make sure that Reno will not grow up in times wrought with grief and death, and he will guide him like his own son just as Mentos made him promise to.

The stars climb towards their zenith, bright against the darkness of night, and Mayenne river is a ribbon of obsidian silver surrounded by tongues of fire left from the setting sun. Matchos tips his face upwards, tracing the lines of Envartos' Great Horns, lingering on the six stars making up his King Ring, the burn of tears tightening his throat. If—if Mentos is gone forever, Matchos will see to it that Purnia lives in the way Mentos envisioned it to the best of his abilities, even if it hurts every step of the way.

It is what he would want him to do. Swallowing the tears and steadying his aching heart, Matchos spins and starts down the hill, the phantom footsteps of his friend following him the entire way.