The warrior's troops had gathered several days prior, and had made camp in preparation for the battle that would ensue. The small army knew that they were all that stood between death and their village. They were determined to sacrifice all to stop those who were so willing to place the shroud of death over their homeland. The attack had come at dawn and the army had fought with the passion of men who comprehend that all will be lost if their best efforts fail. The dark god had been on a rampage for months. Countless numbers of men had fallen in an attempt to prevent his mindless fury, but the stench of death followed on his heels as his shadowy army moved swiftly and strategically to accomplish nothing more than the ecstasy of war. It was now past, and after hours of exhaustive fighting, the battle had drawn to an unavoidable conclusion. The warrior was on his back in the mud which was the product of hours of sweat and quantities of blood which had been spilled upon the battlefield. He was finding it increasingly difficult to draw breath as he lay amongst the waste of human life. He gazed upward into the sky and his eyes rested upon the sun. He thought the golden god must be looking down upon this carnage and he wondered to himself why the god did nothing to prevent such suffering. Surely, he could steal a moment from his chariot to show mercy upon the mortals who fought valiantly to prevent the land from being drawn into the dark void. The sounds of jubilation from the victors were still within earshot but were fading as the thunderous hoof beats of their war horses carried them rapidly away in the direction of the village. The warrior could feel the vibrations of their rapid departure course through the ground and into his pain-wracked body. As the trembling of the ground subsided, he knew that they would reach his home well before nightfall. He was unable to prevent the onslaught and now all he was capable of doing was to lie among the fallen, who like himself, had no choice but to wait for their slow, inevitable ends. The thought crossed his mind that he would die an honorable death, the death of a warrior, but the thought soon vanished as the vision of his wife filled his mind. He revisited the conversation that they had as they laid in each others arms in their bed the night before his departure. His beloved had told him the judge of a man's worth is not in an honorable death but rather in an honorable life. So many times she had pleaded with him to put away his weapons and give up his warring ways, but he only laughed at the thought of toiling on the land that they had settled. Now, he would gladly trade his sword for the family's olive grove if it meant he could once again gaze into her beautiful jade green eyes. Her eyes were always filled with adoration along with a hint of sadness which he never understood until this fleeting moment. His beloved had been the only woman able to tame the heart of a warrior with her compassionate ways and wisdom. There had always been an ethereal quality to his wife. She possessed sight and knowledge that he never fully understood but time and time again her prophecies had proven true. Many in the village feared her, as is often the case with the ignorant. Yet, she was always the one they called upon for guidance. Her sight had allowed the village to flourish, and her sight had even saved a few of the lives of those who would judge her harshly and shun her. She was the woman who made the impossible, possible. He had lived his life believing love at first sight was a tale told by fools. However, the moment he set eyes upon the beautiful priestess outside the temple, he knew that such a tale was not for fools, but for the fortunate ones. He quickly made inquiries with the locals to discover the identity of the auburn haired beauty and discovered that she had been placed at the temple by her mother when she was just a baby. When the child grew up it became apparent to all in the community that the mother had done the right thing to abandon the baby on the temple steps. The young women communed openly with the nine muses who sought out her company. Rumors also spread that the god of the temple, himself, had great respect for woman and he personally appointed her as his priestess. The day they married was the first day the warrior knew complete joy and fulfillment in life. He no longer yearned to wander the land aimlessly but his strongest desire was to build a life side by side with his wife. He was still amazed that she willingly relinquished her position at the temple to become his bride, but she had for seen her future happiness with this man. It was a happiness that would be short lived. The warrior continued to stare at the sun even though his vision was now failing and he saw his beloved's face smiling the smile that always told him "I will love you throughout eternity". His mind drifted to his two daughters who each possessed the same glorious green eyes of their mother. How small they both had appeared when he said his last goodbye to them only a few days ago. The oldest was eight years of age and was the image of her mother with an olive complexion and dark auburn hair. She was quickly showing signs that she would walk in the same path of her mother, for she too, had been born with an old and wise soul. A weak smile crossed his lips as he thought of his youngest daughter. He called the four year old his precious little flower. The little one was fair of complexion and had long blonde ringlets. He loved to tease her by pulling upon her ringlets to make them spring back into place. This always made the little one turn her nose up at him in disapproval. She would feign contempt for such an attack against her, but then her infectious laugher would overcome her as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him with all the might her. His wife had called his precious flower, "her father's daughter". She was slight in stature due to her age but this simple fact never deterred her tenacity. She, as her father before her, was born with the heart of a warrior. As his mind was filled with the images of those he loved he could feel the life's blood drain from him. With the plea of the dying he tried to raise his voice and call to the wise golden god. The warrior's prayer was more in his heart than on his lips as he begged the god to intervene on his behalf and spare the lives of his loved ones. The warrior's broken and lifeless body remained staring blankly at the sun as his soul was torn from the mortal world. He found himself standing at the River Styx waiting with all the other fallen warriors to make their passage into the underworld. He was faced with the heartbreaking reality that he had failed his family. He had failed to live an honorable life.