I was Drafted Into a War as the Only Human

Start of Volume Two: Festival of Death.

"Where... am I?"

Lucy muttered aloud, blinking against the harsh sunlight. He found himself lying in the middle of an endless, open grass field. The wind played with his black hair, cool and constant, while the sun beamed down into his pale, silvery eyes like a spotlight.

He inhaled deeply. The scent of wildflowers filled the air—sweet, delicate, almost too perfect. There was no wind rustling the grass, no buzzing insects—only the faint, distant chirps of birds echoing from a nearby forest.

Lucy sat up slowly, his fingers brushing against the earth as he plucked a lone dandelion. He brought it to his nose.

"A dandelion... Mom’s favorite," he thought. The familiarity of the scent soothed something deep in his chest.

He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t care. For the first time in what felt like ages, peace cradled him. The world around him held no burdens, violence, blood—just warmth and solitude.

So he lay back down and let the golden sun bathe his pale skin, eyes closing softly.

"Mom would love this," he murmured. The thought made his heart ache—not in pain, but in confusion. Why did it feel... off?

He brushed it aside. His thoughts drifted.

"The Knicks could go all the way this year... that new point guard’s insane," he mused with a small smile. Basketball always gave him comfort, even if he was terrible at it. He’d learned to love the game as a fan, watching from the sidelines.

But peace is always temporary.

The warmth behind his eyelids vanished.

He opened his eyes—and the world had changed.

The sun was gone, replaced by a pale, sickly moon that hung in the sky like a dead eye. The stars were missing, and the sky’s blue had rotted into a suffocating shade of black.

Then came the tremors.

The ground rumbled beneath him, subtle at first, then violent. The earth split and groaned like something ancient was waking. Lucy’s body jolted as the grass turned to cold, wet mud beneath him.

"An earthquake?! Shit—I’m gonna die just like my paren—"

He froze.

That word. Parents. His mom. Why had that memory confused him?

But there was no time.

The earth screamed beneath him. Then he heard it—a low, guttural growl.

Lucy sat up fast, heart pounding, eyes searching.

From the ground ahead, something began to claw its way out.

It was a corpse.

The figure was all bones and rot, its limbs twisting unnaturally as it rose. Long black hair hung in strands, patches missing entirely. Its face was sunken, eyeless, its jaw unhinged.

And then it shrieked.

A sound not meant for the living. It split the air like a knife across a throat.

Lucy’s blood ran cold. He scrambled back, feet slipping on the mud. His scream joined the night as panic overtook him.

Then came a second shriek—behind him.

He turned in time to see another creature, with pale bones and torn flesh and long blonde hair hanging in matted clumps. This one had long, pointed ears.

An elf.

Or what was left of one.

More shrieks erupted—one after another. The ground cracked open, and the dead kept coming.

Dozens.

Some had horns, twisted and sharp. Others had snouts like beasts. Some were massive, hunchbacked creatures that scraped the sky with their claws.

Lucy’s mind reeled. He screamed, "Help! Somebody—help me!"

But the field only gave him monsters.

A cold hand gripped his ankle, skeletal fingers digging into his skin. He hit the ground hard, face slamming into the mud. It filled his mouth and nose, making him gag.

More hands followed, grabbing, pulling, and clawing at his limbs, his chest, his face.

They were burying him alive, dragging him down into the muck, into the dark.

He kicked, punched, clawed—but nothing worked.

"I don’t want to die," he cried, tears mixing with the dirt. "Please... someone... help..."

Then—blackness.

And a voice.

A woman’s voice. Cold, melodic, and terrible. It echoed inside his skull.

"Come find me."

Lucy shot upright in bed, drenched in sweat. Gasping.

"Shit."

He slowly raised a shaky hand to his forehead, wiping away the cold sweat that clung to his skin like dew on glass.

’You’d think after twenty of these nightmares, I’d be able to tell when I’m in one,’

He thought, forcing out a chuckle that died the second it left his lips. It was hollow, just like he felt most mornings now.

Three months had passed since the battle for the planet, and still, the nightmares clung to him like shadows at noon.

The faces of the people he’d killed, the way their twisted corpses reached for him, always ended the same way—with that same haunting voice, soft but commanding.

"Come find me."

At first, they wrecked him. Now, they were just a damn inconvenience.

’Weird voice though... probably just my imagination stretching its legs,’ he told himself, brushing the thought away like dust.

He glanced at the glowing red numbers on his clock—7:00 AM.

With a long exhale, he rolled out of bed, the chill of the stone floor waking him further. After a quick shower, he put on his usual all-black clothes.

He paused in front of the mirror before leaving his room, staring at the face that barely felt like his. Pale eyes, messy hair, and that same tired expression. He forced a crooked smile. ’Fake it till you make it, right?’

Then he stepped into the hallway, trading ghosts for golden marble.

Today was breakfast and training with Llarm, Eri, and Gindu—the routine that had, oddly enough, become his comfort zone.

The palace halls gleamed around him, almost obnoxiously pristine—walls of white stone etched with emerald inlays, veins of gold curling through like threads of divine silk.

The floor was polished to such perfection that he could see his reflection clearly in each step. This was not ideal when you looked like you’d just wrestled a nightmare.

He walked, hands in pockets, down the endless hallways until the scent of warm food and the low murmur of voices led him to the dining hall.

Then came the greeting chorus:

"Lucy! Over here!"

"Wyrmling!"

"Over here, dummy!"

The trio was already seated at a table near the back—Llarm waving with both hands like an idiot, Gindu trying to look composed but failing, and Eri sipping something warm while smirking at the chaos.

Lucy grinned and made his way over, ignoring the subtle glances and muttered gossip from a few other soldiers nearby. He was used to it by now.

"What’s up, guys?" he said, sitting beside Llarm.

"We got your plate, Wyrmling," Gindu said, gesturing grandly at the mountain of pancakes and French toast in front of him.

Lucy’s eyes lit up. "My man! Big Wyrm comes through!" he said, already digging in.

Gindu slammed his fist on the table, causing several utensils to jump.

"For the last time—I am not Big Wyrm! You are the Wyrmling!"

Lucy smirked, mouth half full. "Yeah, yeah. My bad. Big Wyrm."

Gindu looked ready to launch into a full-blown rant, but Eri stepped in like a true peacekeeper.

"Let it go, Gindu. He’s just messing with you—again." She turned to Lucy. "Anyway, have you heard the big news yet?"

Lucy paused mid-bite. "Big news?" 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

"Yeah, Seraphine said she had something important to announce today. We’ve been going nuts trying to guess what it is."

Lucy blinked. "Why would I know anything?"

"That’s easy," Gindu said, smugly crossing his arms. "You’re her favorite. Everyone knows that."

Then Llarm jumped in, full of mischief. "Yeah, rumor has it she’s in love with you." He clasped his hands together and began hugging himself dramatically.

"Oh, Lucy," he moaned in a mock voice. "Hold me in your mortal arms, you dark, brooding killer with trauma."

Lucy nearly choked on his food from laughing. The others joined in.

While it was true he’d been spending more time with Seraphine lately, it had nothing to do with romance. If she didn’t have something he needed—something vital—he wouldn’t have said more than two words to her.

Not out of hatred. That had faded sometime during those long, quiet months.

Because how could he hate her for turning him into a killer, when he had chosen to stay one?

He remembered yelling at her, blaming her for taking his choice away. She had, but the war kept going, the blood never stopped, and somewhere along the way, Lucy had stopped trying to cling to that old vow of who he used to be.

He’d become exactly what he said he wouldn’t. So no, he didn’t hate her anymore.

Hating her now would be hypocritical—and he’d come to loathe that even more.

Still, he played along with Llarms’ nonsense.

"Please, stop. If Darfin hears you..."

He didn’t even need to finish. Eri and Gindu’s faces turned to stone. Wide eyes. Dropped jaws.

Lucy sighed. "He’s right behind me, isn’t he?"

A low, gravelly voice confirmed his fear. "That’s right, human."

Lucy turned slowly, as if facing down a bear.

And there he stood—Darfin, arms crossed, radiating judgment like it was cologne. His flawless blond hair hung just past his ears, glowing faintly in the morning light.

Lucy gave a mock salute. "To what do I owe the honor, oh great and terrifying Darfin?"

Darfin didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. He spoke as if nothing had just happened.

"You forgot your meeting with the goddess. Let’s go."