The Commander's Beacon

Valor burns as a beacon in the dark. And Commander Merrill’s fire burns brightest. I know, for I have witnessed the white-hot flames of his glory. With a hideous crack, I watched as the cyclops wrenched my arm free of my body. I opened my mouth to scream, but my air rushed from my lungs. My vision rippled, as though I gazed through water. The beast roared and flecks of spittle splattered across my face. As if in answer, I heard the shout of his command—“Halt!” The cyclops’ resolve shook at his beck, and it bared its teeth for another attack. As it raised up its arm, I watched Sir Merrill leap high into the air and drive his weapon deep into the cyclops eye. As it doubled over, crimson streaming from the wound, he readied his attack once more, and clove the beast in twain at the waist. As he lifted my broken body, cradling my dying form in his blood-soaked arms, he whispered words of comfort into my ears: “Be at peace, son of eternity. May your blade light up the darkness of our land, in this life and the next.”