Halo: Magicka

The Spartan seemed to hear my dad's words even from a distance away. Glancing back, he noted our two families before stopping in his tracks. As we caught up, the Spartan saluted my father,

"Sir I am Spartan-061. The UNSC is glad that you still stand," The Spartan's voice was deep, steady, as though nothing could rattle him. His helmet tilted slightly as he took in our group—my family, Jameson's, and the urgency in my dad's eyes.

"There's no need to salute Spartan, I retired a few years ago."

"Okay, We need to move now. There's no time to waste," the Spartan said as he nodded, his tone unwavering, "Follow me. We've got an evacuation point set up on top of a Hospital in the centre of the city."

My father nodded, acknowledging the Spartan's presence and the gravity of the situation.

"Lead the way, Spartan. We're counting on you," Dad said, his voice betraying no sign of hesitation despite the chaos unfolding around us.

The Spartan didn't waste time. He turned on his heel and began to move quickly, his heavy boots clanging against the cracked pavement. His silhouette was imposing, but it was the calmness with which he moved that reassured me—this was someone who knew what they were doing, someone who could get us out of here.

I followed closely behind, keeping my eye on the Spartan's broad back, and then my dad, who kept pace beside me. The Wraith's cannon fired in the distance, its explosive boom rattling the streets, but we didn't look back. We couldn't afford to.

"Stay close!" the Spartan barked, his voice cutting through the din of battle. "We've got incoming!"

Suddenly, a sharp whistle split the air, followed by a heavy thud as something massive crashed into the street a few meters away from us.

A shot-down Banshee.

"Move! Move! Move!" the Spartan shouted.

We ducked into a nearby building, the glass shattering as another explosion rocked the ground, and the flames from the Banshee's crash illuminated our path.

Splash.

I looked over at what liquid had hit me.

No.

No. No. No.

My mother lay there, crimson trickling out of her throat, a glass shard lodged in her neck.

I froze, my heart slamming against my chest like a jackhammer.

"Mom!" My voice cracked as I fell to my knees beside her. My hands hovered over her, trembling, unsure what to do. Blood pooled around her, staining the floor beneath her. The shattered glass glittered like shards of some twisted, broken dream, reflecting the dim light of the burning city outside.

[Healing Hands]

My mother's eyes were hollow... she was already gone.

I shook my head frantically, the words sticking in my throat. "No, NO! PLEASE NO!"

The blood was spilling out of her faster than I could comprehend, my hands were drenched in it.

The Spartan was already at the door, he hadn't seen my spell- busy scanning the surroundings, but when he saw me beside my mother, his helmet tilted slightly, as if sensing the shift in the air.

"Sir!" The Spartan barked at my dad, who was still standing, rigid with shock. "We need to move. Now."

But I couldn't move. Not yet. Not without her.

I looked at my dad, pleading with my eyes, but his face was a mix of anguish and stoic resolve. He walked over to me, his voice low and tight with barely contained emotion.

"Eli... we need to go. We can't stay here. She…" His voice broke for a fraction of a second before he hardened it again. "She's gone."

I shook my head violently. "No. I won't leave her. I didn't even get to say Goodb—"

"Eli." My father's voice was harsh and commanding. "There's nothing you can do right now. You need to listen to me. She wouldn't want you to die here, too, gather yourself, this isn't the end."

I wanted to scream, to rage at the unfairness of it all, but the heat from the explosions outside, the crackling of burning buildings, the distant echoes of gunfire—it all made my head spin.

My mother's hand slipped from mine, her head lolling to the side. The fight in her had slipped away.

I couldn't bring myself to let go. But as I looked into her lifeless eyes, I knew that staying would only make her death meaningless.

I nodded, slowly, unwillingly, and stood up. But as I did, my gaze met the Spartan's helmet once more.

He had been standing silently, watching, waiting. I didn't know what he was thinking, but there was a momentary softness in the way he looked at me. His voice, when it came, was quiet, measured.

"We need to move now," he repeated, more softly this time. "Your family is counting on you."

I clenched my fists, the raw grief, the helplessness, burning through me. My dad's hand was on my shoulder now, his grip firm and strong, pulling me back from the abyss of emotion threatening to consume me.

"Eli… let's go," he said again, more gently as he picked up my baby brother who hadn't said anything in a very very long time, water simply poured out of his eyes.

And for the first time, I realized: I wasn't just fighting for survival anymore. I was fighting for her, too.

The words hung in the air, heavy, almost suffocating. My baby brother still clutched in my father's arms, hadn't made a sound since everything went down. His tear-streaked face was buried against Dad's shoulder, his small body trembling with silent sobs. The innocent weight of it, the helplessness in his silence—it tore at something deep inside me.

I wiped my face roughly, trying to clear the haze of grief clouding my mind. There wasn't time for this. Not now.

I turned and nodded, feeling the pressure of my father's hand on my shoulder like a physical reminder of all the responsibility I had to shoulder. The world outside was falling apart, and I couldn't afford to crumble with it.

I had to keep moving.

But I swear. The covenant will pay for this. Dearly.

The Spartan, his helmet reflecting the fiery glow of the burning city, was already a few steps ahead. His body language was calculated, every movement purposeful. His helmet turned briefly toward me, then away again, scanning the horizon for any threat. We were running out of time.

"Let's go, Eli," Dad urged, his voice tight as he adjusted my little brother in his arms. He'd always been so strong, but even he couldn't hide the weight of this moment.

"Right," I said, my voice hoarse. I forced my legs to move, my feet slamming against the debris-strewn street. We were barely moving, though. It felt like the entire world was pulling us back like gravity itself was resisting our escape.

I didn't look back. I couldn't. I couldn't let myself fall apart in front of them, not when they needed me more than ever. I had to be strong, at least for them. But I do so wish that I could turn around and blast that goddamn wraith into a million pieces. I truly did.

The Spartan led us through the wreckage, never stopping, always looking for danger. We didn't talk. There was nothing to say. All of us were trapped in our own heads, consumed with the knowledge that our lives had just changed in ways we couldn't even begin to process. My mom… she was gone. And nothing could bring her back.

The sounds of battle grew louder as we got closer to the heart of the city, the rumble of explosions shaking the ground beneath us. I could hear the screams, the chaos, the deafening hum of the Covenant's ships overhead. But through all of it, we kept our focus. The Spartan didn't break stride. Neither did we.

I saw it in the distance. A hospital. This was it.