Eye to eye, both armies came to a halt. This was the moment. The tension was growing. All soldiers grimaced, well aware that this may be their last moments. Martin held up the Serbian flag. Supposedly, since he was the general's son he would be the most suitable for the patriotic job. All the soldiers were meant to have the mindset that the wars they fought in were for the betterment of Serbia... Martin had a different perspective of wars: they were the beginning of the end. Having been forced to the battlefield, Martin was madder at his people than anyone else. Despite being luxuriously equipped with all the highest quality weapons, he had no intention of using them; the spear, in his opinion, was too sharp. Even though his father had paid tonnes of gold to make sure his son was comfortable in his uniform, the rigid iron plates of armour weighed heavy on his body. Silence fell upon the battlefield; the silence before the storm. Martin could sense everyone holding their breath. He scanned his enemies; they glared viciously, unblinking, waiting for someone to make a move. A shiver ran down his spine looking at the polished bronze weapons they held. Martin's eyes flickered towards the Byzantine's general. He was heavily built with a scowl spread across his face, he menaced the very existence of Serbia. Next to the general stood a bulky man in his twenties, just like Martin, who held a blinding red flag with a yellow cross. It was the Byzantine flag. It occurred to Martin that this meant the man was the Byzantine general's son. Martin burnt with envy, however much he trained, his body never seemed to show it, he wanted muscles and strong-looking arms like everyone else who he was surrounded by. He was just a skinny little boy with spindly legs and a gaunt face. Unexpectedly, the general's son turned to him and locked his eyes with Martin’s. Martin realised unlike the rest of the soldiers the man had a calm, almost smiling expression. He felt suddenly confident and smiled subtly towards him. It took a while for the man to react but then he gave an unnoticeable nod to acknowledge this. Before he could take in the unlikely acknowledgement, one of the Byzantine soldiers willing to sacrifice his life charged towards the Serbians. In an instant, he was killed by an arrow aimed right at his heart. The war had begun giving Martin no time to take in the friendly gesture from his enemy. He stood in his tracks and all of his surroundings became a blur. Martin wondered, “Am I hallucinating?”
