There was bleakness in every direction. Bloody light shone red off the half-rampart of the endless sky. The wind blew grass to bend, corpses of broken arrows now strewn everywhere. Enveloped by a blood-reeking gale, he lightly swept past the vast grassland outside the Wall, arriving at the man’s side.

The other had the shaft of an armor-piercing arrow stuck in his chest, its head deeply embedded into his heart, and fresh blood dyed the snow-white collar under his armor red. Only the feeble rise and fall of his chest remained; it was clear that he didn’t have long to live.

His face was hidden beneath the helmet and bloodstains. Due to already being past forty years of age, as well as being on the frontier all year round, his face had long since become windworn, the splendor of stars tinting his temples. Even so, the appearance he’d had during his prime could still be discerned from the deep, distinct outline of his features.

He knelt at the man’s side, thinking to reach out and wipe the stains off his face, but his hand was like empty air, gently and easily passing through him — only then did he remember that he had long been an otherworldly spirit, dead for an unknown amount of time.