text: The children ran around to sit in front of the olden, graying man, adults lazily found seats scattered around in ear-shot corners and the whole town settled delicately beside him as he opened his fragile jaw. His eyes were foggy and appeared to almost be cracking, but the depth in them spoke of wells of true knowledge. The old man’s power was in his stories, they had power and meaning, cadence and rhythm, they danced in the imaginations of the youth and activated the cerebral workings of adults, and they always seemed to have a truth that was ethereal to words but physical to the soul. “Yes, yes” he said while raising his shaking hands. “I will tell it again, don’t worry.” His skin was grayed and sagging, forming the cloak of a wiseman naturally formed by the wisdom of age. It was the summer solstice, and as tradition, the elder was supposed to tell the origin story of their people, as he was the only living human to have witnessed it. No matter how many times it was told, or how many times it was haphazardly retold by excited, inspiring play-writes, people still listened to it like it was their first time. It represented a wonderful spirit that ran through their generations and permeated their blood, and by all means of the phrase, it was them. *** I was a young general back then, filled with the hot fire of youth and exuberant at the idea of spilling more blood for history’s benefit. At this time I was fighting in the Great Eagles army and decorated with the confidence of back-to-back victories, which formed into unstoppable progress. We were a well-organized and proud army, having fought the continents best and beaten them with the vicious, annihilating force of violent battle. Around this time we were finally on the horizon of our final, glorious victory that in our minds would unite the world into one cohesive totality. You could not have found a more ready group of men, every troop, every cook and every mother of a soldier was ready for what the Eagle had called our mandate from heaven. The Eagle's words were prophetic to us, they elevated mere human inspiration and flew up to divine reasons for living. He had started his career as a crazed madman yelling strange predictions as he led small troops of men into battle, but as time went by and his victories piled on, his words turned from strange oddities to visions from the heavens, and we were his loyal disciples. Practically overnight an insane nobody turned into a prophet by the mere coincidence of victory, be it luck or skill. “Men,” he said to us as we gathered for our final battle. “Today you engrave your names onto history's doorstep, and forever enshrine the legacy we have built for all of mankind -- a monolith for peace and tower of unshakable providence. Today we ride into the kingdom of the dove Princess, and fight her yet unbeaten army.” We were in the midst of marching into the eastern-most empire, the lands of the dove princess and her large swaths of territory. Her story was legendary to all peoples of the continent, and one that every soldier knew by heart, for they knew that it was their destiny to one day face her unbeaten army in battle, and deliver a bloody finale for the gods. The dove’s father, the Dragon of the East, had died suddenly while in the midst of an epic campaign, and the reins of battle were left to his young, untrained daughter who by all signs had no experience in combat or leading troops. We, inspired by the Eagle’s words, predicted doom for them, and thought that our campaign would ride through the rest of the continent with the ease of a sharpened knife, unifying our final cause atop the ashes of the once-great Eastern Empire. But to the surprise of all, she not only took up the reins of leadership and held the shaken kingdom together, she started expanding its borders at a rate that was never seen by any leader before. It was like a terrifying bolt of lightning struck the map of the world of men, before we knew what was happening, her empire had doubled in size and great nations were toppling like dice. The most impressive part of all of this was that legend said she did this without losing a single man, which earned her the name of the dove princess by her people. After hearing of all this and keeping his ear close to the wall of her empire, the Eagle became enraptured by what he considered to be the gods greatest and final test for him, the cosmic and immortal battle between the Eagle and the dove, a clash that would decide the fate of all the world and put a close to this chapter of humanity. It was poetic to the Eagle, who saw it all from the eyes of a daring playwright. Two kingdoms, separated at birth and scattered across the lands both making a bloody trail into each other's arms. It is right and proper that they were to be the final battle, as in his mind the gods would have had no other way, trial by fire for what was to rise to be the greatest nation of men. No such thing could be born of anything besides blood. That fated day, every one of us gathered our spears and swords and gazed into our reflections, wondering what was to await us soon. Never before did we feel the weight of the world like we did then, and every man knew that we’d have to spill much blood before we could call peace, before we could go home as heroes and greet our families with the love and joy at a job well done. “The sun greets us as saviors,” The Eagle told us as we began our march to battle. He then saw the looks in our eyes, looks of meekness or slight terror, and gave a disgusted spit at such a laughable sight. He pulled his sword from its golden sheath and stabbed it at the sky, prophesying once more. “Power resides behind a blade men, and each one of you holds the power in your hands right now. The power to command the world, and change her ebbing tides.” As we carried further on, we gripped our blades evermore tightly while looking at the sun he just preached of, and tried to imagine it calling our names, tried to imagine it looking past all of the souls we vanquished to get where we were. I recalled the first man I killed, and the look in his eyes as his soul left for that very sun. I wanted to be haunted by it, and haunted by him, but I rallied myself from the Eagle’s words and remembered that it was the only way to peace. That was how the Eagle would calm our souls, by reminding us of the inevitability and necessity for violence -- “Peace can only be found through the blade” and “Your children sleep safely when your enemy's blood coats the battlefield.” Were what we were rocked to sleep with. Even in times of great atrocity, when we burned villages and sacked much-needed food stores, he maintained the position of high-minded peace. “Look upon the wasteland you create and rejoice, for only fire breeds a healthy forest. Only corpses fertilize a field. We are merely the reapers of history, preparing for the harvest of a great peace. Look on the waste and rejoice .” When we came close to the plains that were meant to be our fated battlefield, the Eagle became more and more enraptured by our purpose. His eyes grew large and red, and we could see the veins of his neck pulsing like slithering snakes as he shouted. “The time is now!” He screamed, “Over these hills we find our destiny! My destiny! To vanquish the last dissenters of this world and become the world! We are history’s reapers and we shall have our harvest!” We were ready, we were ready to find the enemy below us and give epic, glorious battle to define our legacy forever, but as we strode over the hill, swords and spears in hand, we were not greeted by troops. No, as we crossed the crest of the horizon, gripping our blades tightly and sending prayers of protection up to the sky, we saw below us men and women, not troops. We saw kids playing in the fields and mothers holding babies, we saw fathers chasing their kids with a smile and elders watching on with great heaps of laughter as the warming sun cast golden rays onto their faces. We saw an abundance of food and water, feasts and fun, flowers and toys all surrounded by the pleasant, human sounds of nature at rest. We didn’t find a battle below us, but humanity and mankind. We were awestruck, frozen by the sight and unable to move even a finger. The Eagle was stuttering to himself in an attempt to make sense of what he was seeing, and every man could not say a word, for they didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Then, from the crowd of pleasantries a young woman came forward. She was not ornately dressed or in possession of some grand form of beauty, she was plain and smiling, a warm sight for soldiers who spent most of their days on the march. She walked forward with arms outstretched and presented a delightful scene behind her: It was the dove. “My friends.” Her voice was sweet and kind, a honey to our ears. “You come for battle and glory, protesting it for the cause of peace and prosperity, so I instead offer exactly that: peace and prosperity.” There was not a word in the air besides her own. “My once father led an army of conquerors, much like you all. Marching across the lands and claiming to be fighting for peace and stability, much like you all, but I saw that whatever he left behind was not peace, but destruction, and what everyone wanted was not war, but kindness and a quiet life for their families. I offer to you no bloodshed or battle, but exact peace. An opportunity to gather under this beautiful sun and talk about things however you wish.” We all looked at the Eagle, whose face was twisting into a perverse sight and was covered in a cold sweat. “This is a trap!” He yelled desperately. “This is how she had defeated so many armies before us! Men, she’s wanting to lure us into a siren call and then they’ll pounce! Slaying us like dogs!” He rode around us atop his golden horse, sword raised and eyes frantic little beads. “Do not fail history men! Do not fail me! Look at what we have accomplished, that is the only way to peace, she spews lies!” We all looked at each other, unsure of what to do and clouded by doubt, then, from beside the dove a man stood up, simple in clothing, much like her, and decorated by a gracious smile, “Hear me men, for I was once the leader of the Mountain Kingdom, and I can attest that she tells you is no lie. All of what was once my men are before you on this field, not slain nor injured, but enjoying this fine day.” Then, one after another, more men like him stood up and explained similar stories, all speaking up until every kingdom that fell before the dove was accounted for, not fallen but standing beside her. “These are lies!” The Eagle screeched. “Men, charge into the crowd and cut them down!” We were frozen, we looked down into that crowd of children and saw our own, we watched the happy fathers and longed to be with our wives and kids. The dove motioned her hand and the women and children approached us with flowers and baskets of food, petrifying us even more. The Eagle became more desperate as they came closer, yelling at us from his new position in the back rank. “They come now with poison and hidden weapons! Now, act now and slay them or be destined to die!” But we didn’t, when the people came, wrapping us in flowers and handing us food, we smiled kindly and thanked them, looking around with sprouting delight and realizing that it was over. Laugher began to rise from our ranks as we dropped our weapons and rejoiced with each other. I lovingly remember seeing my reflection again in the falling swords, and knew that I would no longer have to use its edge to draw life. The only other thing I remember of the Eagle was that he seemed to then lose his mind, riding off into the distance yelling the screams of a madman. This was the beginning of our world, not one of possession and violence, of force and battle, but instead, one born of love and kindness, true humanity and the want for a happy life. Men like the Eagle are hardly remembered, and instead of immortalizing events and people, we immortalize our collective effort and remember to never forget our fellow man. In the end, it wasn’t the dove that saved us, but our humanity as a whole.