Fire on Fire

By Ginevra Marchesini • 14 March 2026

“We’ve been at this for the past three weeks. Why haven’t we attacked them yet?” Meira said as she slammed her hands on the table.

“Why haven’t they attacked us yet?”, she raised her voice with this last question, desperate for her voice to be heard.

Meira looked around the tent and tried to catch the eyes of the men standing around the table. Archduke Aleandro was right across from her, his arms crossed on his chest, his thick leathers making him appear larger than he was. The other generals were sitting on the chairs, puzzled looks over their faces, unsure of what to do next. 

Meira looked past the Archduke, her eyes landing on the figure standing by the opening of the tent, Elia – King Elia, as she was forced to refer to him now. 

Newly crowned and still mourning the loss of his family, King Elia had fallen into an unusual silence. He was often found staring into the distance, watching the birds fly through the sky and the leaves dance with the wind. Meira tried to console him, offering conversation to take his mind off things. But she had been unsuccessful.

He barely even looked at her anymore.

Realising he would not turn around even now, Meira sighed and moved her gaze down at the table. She surveyed the maps and scrolls in front of her, dozens of copies of Archduke Aleardo’s war plans, each one more useless than the other. The old man had no real experience on a battlefield, no real knowledge of the power of  swords clashing against each other or arrows flying through the sky. He did not know what it meant to be cold at night, waiting for your enemy to attack. He was clueless about the desperation in a soldier’s eyes as he lay dying on the cold ground praying to all available gods to spare his life.  Archduke was no soldier in Meira’s eyes. And as such, she cared not for his opinion. 

But the man was a distant cousin of the late king, granting him a position within Vermillion’s high ranking officers and never passing on the occasion to speak up.

And by the gods, the man had the most infuriating voice.

“Our spies have come back with some very valuable information”, the incompetent man said.

Meira shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Her patience hung by a thin thread that grew more fragile every time the man opened his mouth. Besides having an ear-piercing whistle attached to his voice, the Archduke spoke with such a slow pace that by the time he finished his sentence one could walk across Leaflen and back.

“They tell me that King Florian has an attack planned within the next full moon”, he dragged his last words out more than usual, emphasizing each one with his gaze moving across the room. Whispers and gasps filled the air of the tent, the officers that sat at the table grew visible concern on their faces, the soldiers standing guard looked at each other with worry. Meira lifted her eyes and looked at the man, scrolls and maps still in her hands. 

The next full moon. They had four days left.

Meira set the papers on the table, finally sitting down and taking in the new information. Elia – King Elia – turned around to face the room, that new information catching his attention. His thoughts were still somewhere else, Meira could see it in his distant eyes. He circled the tent with his arms crossed behind his back. Her eyes were fixed on his, following his movements. They had not spoken much since that fateful night three weeks ago when their futures drastically changed. The night where Elia had been obligated to take up a role he never wished for and Meira forced to step down from the only position she had ever dreamed of. The smell of burning wood still lingered in Meira’s nose, the heat of the fires clinging on her skin.

She looked at him with worry, not just for him and his distracted mind, but for the fate that was about to strike them. For the lack of planning and strategy. He finally settled, sitting on the chair to Meira’s right.

“I have provided my plans”, the Archduke continued only after the King had settled. “I suggest staying back with a strong defence. Let them attack first and come into our territory. We know these lands, our soldiers have trained on these lands, we have all fought on these lands.”

A laugh escaped from Meira’s lips with that last statement and she shook her head, “You haven’t.”

She picked at the strings on her tunic. The threads were coming undone.

Silence fell into the room. Everyone stared at her, holding their breath and waiting for a reaction from the Archduke.

He did not react but he shot a challenging look at the young girl before continuing speaking, “Our enemy is unfamiliar with the territory, let them come to us and we’ll be prepared to strike them head on.” 

The Archduke looked around the room at the other Lords, all of them nodding in agreement with his words. They would not dare say a word against him even though they knew the plan was faulty. 

Cowards. Every last one of them. 

Meira was the only one unconvinced, her arms crossed in front of her. As the old man’s eyes fell on her, she raised her chin and stared at him, squinting her eyes, trying to decipher him. She did not trust him, something was off about the Archduke. He had offered his own lands as battle ground after decades of refusing to do so. The Aleandro family had always been the most secretive among the royal houses, often deciding to stay out of conflicts and removing themselves from most political decisions. But the Archduke had involved himself in the war with King Florian. Using revenge for the late King’s death as an excuse, he inserted himself in the royal court and made his lands and army the forefront of the war.

What did he know?

“Do we trust them?” Meira said, earning a wary look from the Lords, “Your spies.”

She moved forward, resting her arms on the table. “They’ve been with the enemy for months, can we be sure they’re not working with them? Wouldn’t be the first time our kingdom is double crossed”, that last line was directed to the Archduke. She stared at him right in the eyes, not blinking once. Challenging him.

“These men have been with me since they were born, their fathers before them. I trust them completely”, the Archduke responded swiftly.

“But they have never been involved in such a conflict.” Meira did not tear her eyes from the insufferable man.

“Their experience speaks for itself.”

“Experience? In what? The most they have done is probably spy on rich men and their mistresses. What can they possibly know about infiltrating the military ranks of the strongest kingdom in the empire?” Her voice raised as she spoke. She had had enough of these old men, inexperienced as they were, telling her what to do with her sword.

“Who are you to quest-”

“Enough!”

King Elia’s voice echoed in the tent. He spoke for the first time since the start of the meeting.

He continued, directing his orders to the Archduke, “Tell the men to be ready for an attack at any time, distribute the defence plans and get a good night’s sleep, it will be a long few days.”

The Lords all nodded in thanks and made their way out.

Meira stayed back, earning a hateful glance from the Archduke. She reciprocated the feeling.

Once the tent was cleared Meira turned to look at Elia.

“Do you really trust him?” she asked him, worried in her tone.

“Meira, don’t.” he answered, as he collected the papers on the table.

“I just don’t understand why that man has a say in our strategies. He has no experience, no knowledge of a battlefield…”

“And you do?” Elia shot her a hurt look. “You have such expertise that you can determine whether a man fifty years your senior is unqualified?”

“It is my job to know. It is all I have trained for.”

“And what good that has done.” 

He stood up and pushed his chair back.

“Elia, please. I -” she pleaded.

“King Elia,” he shot back at her. Meira couldn’t help but roll her eyes, 

“We may have been friends… but I am still your King and you are to follow my word now.” He dared not look her in the eyes, afraid that if he did she would be able to see right through him. Get past that shield he puts up around her, holding back the feelings his position as King forbade him to have.

Elia paced around the table, eyes fixed on the Archduke’s war plans. 

“I came into this war for you, following your orders is not the issue”, Meira stood from the chair, hoping to catch his gaze. “The issue is you not realising that the Archduke is using this war for his own gain. He has delayed the attack for weeks. Don’t you find that at least a little suspicious?”

They had been stationed in his lands, eating his people’s food, paying his people’s taverns and brothels. The longer they stayed there, the more money went in the Archduke’s pockets.

Elia’s armour clinked as he moved. A good soldier is always ready for action.  His late father had trained him to always be on the lookout.

He sighed, “We need his men, the crown has but a few hundred men left, the Archduke has thousands of men at his disposal. We need him more than he needs us.” 

“You’re making a mistake.” Meira shook her head in disbelief, her words were not as important to Elia as they once had been. It’s

“I do not need your opinion.”

“Fine. But I joined this war for you, to defend your title and your kingdom.”

“You shouldn’t have”, he said softly, a hint of regret in his voice. He had stopped pacing around the room and stood by at the other end of the table, replacing the space the Archduke had occupied earlier. 

“You shouldn’t  be here.” A hint of shame tainted his voice. He looked at her, their eyes meeting for the first time that day. She couldn’t decipher his face. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking and that terrified her. Meira shifted on her feet, unsure what to do or say. They looked at each other for some time. Their 

 “Why? Why are you so against me being here?” Meira dared to ask. She didn’t want an answer to that question. Or, at least, she didn’t expect one.

“Because you are weak!” Elia shouted as he rose from his chair. The words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. Anger had been building inside him for some time but he never wanted to snap against his oldest friend. Someone that until not so long ago had been more than just a friend.

Meira was taken aback by his words, stumbling backwards as if he had physically hit her. She looked down at her feet, picking the tunic in her hands once again. She often picked at the edges of her clothes when seeking comfort. Many of her shirts were worn at the edge from this habit. Tears started to pool in her eyes. 

She spoke after a minute, a painfully long minute.

“Fine, if that’s how it is then I shall take my leave.” She took one last look at the maps on the table. elia was still standing on the other side, blocking the exit of the tent. She started walking towards him, her eyes not daring to meet his. When she reached his side, she slowly lifted her gaze and looked at him. All the worry and concern she had harboured in the last couple of weeks had left. Elia shifted aside slightly. 

“Good luck on your battles, my King”.

She mockingly bowed low, slapped the fabric of the tent away and left. He looked after her, watched as she made her way through the camp, disappearing into the dark night and never looking back. He wished she had turned around, one last look. One last look for him.

But she didn’t. She didn’t turn back.

That same night, Elia sat in front of the bonfire with his men. They were exchanging stories, occasionally turning their conversations into improvised songs. Tunes about soldiers fighting with courage, heroes defeating the enemy with their long swords. Most of them were drunk, one last drink before the battle they had been waiting for. A fight some of them won’t be coming back from.

One of the soldiers turned to Elia, eyes half closed from all the ale cursing through his veins. 

“Where’s your pretty lady friend, my King?”

That sparked a laugh from other soldiers. Elia sipped on his ale and ignored the man. The drink was too strong for his taste but good enough to wash down his anger and shame.

He stared right ahead, not wanting to meet the gaze of the soldiers. Scared of his reaction should they continue to question him on matters he did not wish to speak about. 

When he didn’t answer, another soldier spoke, “She scared of a fight? Typical of a wom-”

His words are interrupted by someone slamming into him. Elia had tackled him into the cold hard ground, pressing his whole weight on him. Both of their drinks had gone flying, the soldiers sitting next to them shifted in response. They all stared at him. He had never lost his temper like this, not when he was insulted, or his mother or his brother. Only when Meira was on the line did he become defensive, aggressively so.

“Take it back!”

“My King, I was merely joking,” the soldier choked out.

“Do not ever dare disrespect Meira again. Do you understand?” Elia said through his teeth, his forearm pressing on the soldier’s throat, the other arm holding the hilt of his dagger, ready to whip it out.

“Do. You. Understand?” he shouted loud enough for the whole camp to hear his words. The soldier managed to simply nod as Elia pressed harder on his throat, blocking the air out of his throat. Elia had had enough. Letting go of the soldier, he stood up and began to make his way back to his tent. But before he was fully out of sight, he addressed the men in front of the fire, but spoke loud enough for everyone in close proximity to hear.

“Meira would put all of us to shame on the battlefield, myself included. She is twice as brave and as sharp as anyone here, you should consider yourselves lucky to have been in her presence.”

Tears were forming in his eyes, all the repressed emotions of the last three weeks threatening to overwhelm him. But he could not let them see him break, so as soon as he said his last word he quickly turned around. 

As he walked away he heard the soldiers shuffle around, whispering. The soldier he had pushed to the ground sniffled softly and said “He spilled my ale.” His voice cracked, clearly upset over his spilled drink.

Priorities.

Elia walked back to his tent, sulking in his misery. He had not had a moment to think since that fateful night three weeks ago. Had not had time to mourn the lives he lost, not just of the people who were now among the ancestors, but the lives of those he could no longer have around. 

He flicked the flap of his tent away and the sight before him left him startled. The light was flickering, a bright orange lamp hung above his head.

Meira had left her armour on his bed.

A haunting reminder that she had been ready to risk it all for him. And he treated her like that, wounding her honour. He wanted to apologise to her, but she had been gone by the time he came to his senses. Had he crossed the line? All the things he said to Meira ran through his head, it was driving him mad. Earlier that night, before the whole ordeal with the soldiers, he had seen her get on her horse as she left the camp, her sword still strapped to her side.

Meira and her weapon were like fire and heat. Get one, expect the other. He should’ve gone after her, apologised for what he said. Maybe she’d have come back to his side, like they’d always been. Together, through thick and thin. 

The tears in his eyes now came streaming down his face. His lips trembled. Anger was hiding behind his sadness, overwhelming his brain, deafening him. He was angry at himself, his own words.

Meira was on her horse, slowly galloping away from the camp. No destination in mind. She simply wanted to get away.

Elia’s words hurt her, more than she’d like to admit. She left her armour on his bed, hoping to leave him a small token of their time together. It was common practice among the people of Leaflen. Once a soldier fell during battle, their commander or next of kin was given their armour, however damaged or broken, as a reminder of the efforts of the fallen soldier. A symbol of the sacrifice. Elia himself had designed her, gifted it to her for her name day, three weeks, before everything changed.

She left it in his tent before she left camp. She was angry at him and the words he said to her. He had not been in his right mind but that did not give him the right to say those things to her, regardless of their hierarchy.

She wanted to leave him a haunting reminder of the shame and embarrassment carried in those last four words he spoke to her. 

She was now within the thick of the forest.

Rain started pouring down, hiding the tears falling down her face. Above her head she heard thunder rumbling, shaking the air.

As Mosca, her beautiful black horse, grew uneasy around the loud storm, she came to a halt. They stopped on the bank of a river, under a big tree, trying to shelter themselves from the heavy downpour of water. Meira sprayed out her blanket on the cold ground, sitting down and leaning back against the thick trunk. Mosca was tied to a branch, her reins long enough for her to lay down next to Meira. The horse had been a gift from her father, the finest stallion in the whole country, fast and obedient, smart and kind. Just like Meira.

They fell asleep like that, next to each other, as they waited for the rain to settle down.

Barely an hour had passed when Mosca’s cries suddenly woke Meira. The poor animal hated thunderstorms, or any loud noise. Not very convenient when in the middle of a war. She tried to calm the beast down to no avail. As she looked past the thick forest of trees, her breath stopped in her throat.

Smoke and fire in the sky. Coming from the direction of the camp.

Something was definitely wrong. 

I shouldn’t have left, she thought to herself, cursing under her breath. She tried to get on Mosca, but the animal wouldn’t let her, she wouldn’t move. She would have to go on foot.

“You stay here, my darling. I will come back for you”, she kissed her horse’s neck, knowing that she would not move. Smart and obedient.

Meira started running. Faster than she had ever run, glad the weight of her armour wasn’t slowing her down. She only had the familiar weight of her sword by her side, a reminder of her true purpose, her destiny. Some people are born to fight. They are not born with courage. They are not born with strength. They are not born with skills. The universe simply chose to bring them into this world with fire and steel in their veins. They may face battle after battle but they always come back up, stronger than before. Meira was one of these people. It may not be the life she would’ve chosen for herself. In fact, she’d love to put down her sword, lay down her arms and simply live her life. But this is what she was born to do.

And this is what she will do. Until the day she no longer has to.

Lightning lit the path before her, bringing the fast pulse of her heart to a steady rhythm.

It had taken her a while before she reached camp. Or, at least, what was left of it. Meira slowed down as she came closer, breath catching in her throat. No tents were left standing. All caught in flames. On the ground, plates and glasses still filled with food, helmets and shields tossed aside as if their owners were in a rush. Burnt bows and untouched arrows. 

Within the rubble she could not see King Florian’s men, not a single enemy soldier had been killed. Meira may have criticized the plans of the Archduke but she knew his soldiers were capable of at least striking down a few men. But the only colours on the armours of the fallen soldiers were green and silver. The colours of Leaflen.

If they had been fighting the soldiers of King Florian then surely among the bodies there’d be more bodies on the ground. Unless, of course, they had not been fighting other soldiers.

In the distance, Meira heard some strange noises, grunts and shouts echoing through the burnt trees. She walked slowly through the damage, careful to not step on the mutilated bodies of the good men she had spent the past weeks with. Some of them were young, younger than her even, with a full life still ahead of them. Most were fathers and grandfathers, volunteers to the Archduke’s army. All of them had families waiting for them back home, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, children. Waiting for them to return victorious. 

A few metres ahead she spotted the source of the noises.

On a patch of land where no trees grew, she noticed a few men still standing. Their swords clashed against each other. King Florian’s men were nowhere to be seen. The soldiers she had lived with the past weeks were all fighting each other. 

Beyond the battle ground she spotted three men on horses, hiding in the shade of the trees. The one in the middle wore a thick leather armour and a bright red cape. 

The Archduke. 

He was smiling at the soldiers before him, clearly content with the sight of a battle. Then he spotted Meira and his expression changed. He went from obvious amusement to visible concern. He stepped down from his horse without breaking eye contact with Meira and made his way through the soldiers who were still defending their camp and their honour. Archduke Aleandro strode through the field, cutting down anyone in his path with ease. 

The old man was not as incompetent as he let on. 

Meira slowly unsheathed her blade, her focus set on the man striding towards her. She had to take him down. She saw him slash open another soldier, his green cape falling on his slain body, covering his still open eyes.

She had been right and Elia had been too stubborn to see it. She charged at him, swallowed her shame and her fear and sprung forward, sword raised high above her head. 

With rage consuming her, she screamed as she brought her sword down to hit the Archduke.

He heard her war cry and turned around just in time to defend himself. He covered his body with his wooden shield, Meira’s sword trapped in it. She kicked at it and pulled her sword to herself, standing back on her feet ready to destroy this man. He was much taller than her, shoulders almost double as wide. A worthy opponent.

“Oh I am going to enjoy killing you”, she said to him as she stared at his bloody face.

The efforts of the battle already weighing him down, exhaustion clear in his eyes.

Meira charged at him with all her force, analysing his weak spots and finding the right stop to hit. She noticed he raised his elbow before striking with his sword, leaving his side exposed. That’s where she struck the first blow. A simple cut, slicing him just enough to pierce his skin, but not deep enough to kill him.

Not yet.

She would make him suffer as much as she could.

The Archduke winced in pain, doubling over. He fell on his side, dropping his shield and holding a hand over his wound. He looked up at Meira, who was towering over him. Her boots sank in the wet mud. She steadied herself against a small stone, gripping the ground with her feet. She could feel the rain pouring down her back, her clothes clinging to her body.

She had left her armour in Elia’s tent, thinking she wouldn’t need it anymore. A good soldier is always ready for action, the words echoing in her mind. She was taking a big risk fighting without protection, but she was willing to. Anything for her King.

“Get off your ass you traitor”, she gritted her teeth and spat on the Archduke’s face.

She wanted to kill him, yes, but no kill is honourable if the opponent was on his feet. He had to beg for his life. Make it enjoyable for her. Making it an even sweeter kill.

He stood on his feet, knees wobbling and sweat pouring down his forehead. He was out of breath, strength slowly leaving him. He raised his sword once more, and once more Meira found his weak spot. His left arm, the one that had been holding the shield, limped to his side, and Meira sliced his skin open once more. Blood was pouring from every part of the man’s body. Seeing how weak and pale the Archduke was getting by the second, Meira didn’t even bother trying to put up a fight. The effort wasn’t worth it.

The Archduke dropped to his knees, falling on his side. He twisted and turned in pain, as much as whatever energy he had left in him let him. Meira slowly walked over to him, kicked him in the stomach once. His mouth spitting blood. Rain was pouring heavier than before, buckets of water coming down all at once, thunder rumbling in the sky. Meira felt the electricity in the air, it fueled her.

“Just kill me already. Please”, he begged her.

“Death is a mercy you do not deserve”, she whispered, laughing at the man on the ground in front of her. Her sword’s fine blade would be wasted on a man like this. She looked up, relief in her eyes when she saw him.

Across the camp, Elia saw Meira’s eyes fixed on him. The silent exchange was loud enough for the both of them to understand. I will get to you. Meira walked towards him, clenching her sword tightly in her hands. It was getting heavier and heavier by the minute, her arms ached and her stomach turned. So much blood. So many bodies around her.

The Archduke rose from behind her, planted his sword on the ground to lift himself up. He let it drop. It fell on the unmoving body of a young soldier, Meira heard the clinging sound and quickly turned around.

“But you do”, he said as his arms raised.

She let out a silent scream as a dagger pierced her. Straight through the heart.

Her eyes fell on her chest, the knife plunged deep in her. Dropping her sword, she raised a hand and removed the dagger. She looked at the Archduke, she let out a small laugh, shaking her head a little.

Across the field, Elia saw the whole scene. As soon as Meira fell, he picked up a bow and arrow from the ground. His archer skills were unmatched. One arrow was enough. He pulled back the string of the bow and released. He didn’t see his target, or the camp around him. His eyes were fixed on Meira. He had to get to her. The arrow flew across the camp at unfathomable speed, impaling the Archduke right in between his eyes. He was dead this time, dead for good.

Elia started running. He stopped on his stracks, the sight before him freezing his blood. Meira was on her knees in front of him, a few paces away, a cold smile frozen on her face.

“I’m -”, Meira whispered before she fell to the ground, not able to finish her words.

Elia caught her in his arms before she hit the mud, settling her on his legs.

“No no no,” Elia cried out, his voice trembling with pain, “Meira stay with me.”

He scanned her face, unsure what to do or where to hold her. He was scared to touch her face or hold her too tight. 

She held his hands, clung unto him to remind herself that something soothing existed even on the doorstep of death.

“I told you… you shouldn’t have trusted him”, she laughed. Her laugh was everything but humorous as she intended. She let out a little puff of breath which turned into a painful cough, blood coating her teeth and coming out of her mouth. Her hands grew weak and she gripped her chest, as if trying to stop the blood from spilling out of her more and more with every shallow breath.

Elia didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to react. His own death did not frighten him.

But hers?

Oh, that was his greatest fear.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you. You’re okay Meira. You’ll be okay”, he wiped his tears from his cheeks. His hands, stained with her blood, were shaking like leaves on a cold windy day.

“Meira, I’m sorry. I did not mean what I said earlier. You are not weak. You are so strong and brave and intelligent and you are so much better than me, you’re so much more and I don’t deserve you. But I love you, please don’t close your eyes”, his lips were trembling, words coming out in sobs. He caressed her face, soft strokes on her cheeks and hair. Her red hair was stained with blood, a haunting sight. Red on red. Fire on fire. Her eyes were closed now, her chest remained still.

“Don’t leave me please, stay with me, I can’t lose you”, he whispered. Voice so low it could barely be heard, as if he was speaking more to himself.

“Meira.” he continued stroking her hair, “Please”.

She was gone, lost to earth. Claimed by the gods.

He planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

Elia stayed in that position for what felt like hours, clinging unto her stiff body as he wept and mourned. He tried wiping his hands, removing the stains of her blood but no matter how much he tried to, it seemed like the blood just spread even more. It crept under his fingernails, on his cheeks and his legs. When he stood up, he took his mantle off, and covered Meira’s body. He couldn’t stand the men seeing her like this, her bravery and wit tainted by the cowardice of the man who killed her. She deserved better than that.

Elia picked her up in his arms and made his way to the forest, find Mosca, as Meira would have done. He was going to bring her back home, tell tales of her quick mind and bravery.

She should get the recognition she deserved.

As he limped through the camp, Elia spotted Mosca. The horse had followed her master despite her fears. Mosca knew there was trouble and came running. Just like Meira had done for Elia, ran to save her King. The horse stopped in her tracks when she saw the body in Elia’s arms, realisation hitting her hard. She wailed in pain, kicking her legs and stomping hard on the ground. A master losing their horse was common in battle, especially with horses as skilled as Mosca. Elia had seen thousands of soldiers weep after their lost companions, weeping and crying. But a horse losing their master, much more uncommon.

The horse’s reaction shot an arrow through Elia’s heart, his pain overwhelming him. As the beast calmed down, she came closer to Elia, sniffing Meira’s dead body. Elia stared at the strange behaviour. Mosca never came close to anyone voluntarily.

He positioned Meira’s body on the horse’s back and climbed on himself.

He did not realise the love he had until he lost it. Until he lost her. Only in the sorrow of death is the proof of love, of the relationships that exist beyond space and time, the bonds that make our world real.

And he lost it all.