Back in the camp, the czar had barely slept. The thrill of combat pulsed in his heart, keeping him wide awake. He couldn’t rest, like everyone else in the camp. He heard shouting and laughing coming from the bonfires outside. The last night before a battle took the demons out of everyone. He didn’t need to walk out of his tent to know what it looked like outside. Soldiers gathered around the fires. Those who’ve seen combat before tell the young boys how to swing and where to strike. Warning them that falling on the ground is a death sentence and a cruel one.

The fires heard stories of lost fingers and deep scars. No one but their tellers knew if they were real, but tonight everyone’s imagination ran wild. Only a handful were soldiers, people who fought for a living, but all were warriors. Tomorrow their hands would squeeze the hilt of a weapon, regardless if they’re used only to the touch of dough. They all longed for a woman’s touch, a brother’s embrace, or a child’s hug. But for many of them, the sword would be the last thing they hold in their arms.

The Tsar didn’t leave his tent tonight. He needed the thin sheets to protect him from his own men. It wasn’t their blades he was worried about. It was their eyes he avoided that night. They all thought he was planning the battle tomorrow, but he was trying to think about anything but the battle. He avoided them, for it wasn’t easy to see the victims of his ambition.

When light first broke the blackness, the royal guard was ready, and the last smoke of the campfires disappeared. The czar left his tent, armored, sword on his hip.

“You’ll be in command today.” - he said to one of his generals.

“Sire? Are you not going to the rear?” - he replied.

“No.”

“But why?”

“To claim my broken statue.” - the czar said and mounted his horse.

He read the question in the man’s eyes. Too afraid to say it, he let his eyes speak for him. They told of madness and recklessness. They pleaded with a ruler not to throw his life away in such a foolish way. They told him that the arrow doesn’t differ between a soldier and a czar. The eyes said things the mouth would never whisper.

“I will lead the charge.” - Roman said.

He spurred his horse and headed to the forest, followed by his guard. He doesn’t look back. There’s nothing for him there. He doesn’t think about his child or his wife. About his friends or family. Not even about her.

Everything he’s done in his life was a step towards this day. He expected to be much more confident when the time came, but doubt shook his bones like fever. He had to squeeze every little thing that could swing the battle in their favor. Was he sure the imperials wouldn’t scout their position? The history books say they were careless in that regard. Was he sure that they could defeat them even if they managed to flank them? No, they always had a third line in reserve. Would Perun hold his side of the bargain? It was equally as likely for him to blast Roman’s cavalry out of existence when they charged out of the woods.

But if all these things come together, they may still not be enough.