Mars, the Bringer of War

In the midst of their blissful dance, with a subtle sheen of perspiration upon their visages and Ana’s curls slightly dishevelled from twirling about the ballroom, the grand double doors burst open. A clearly distraught servant made his entrance, prompting a sudden murmur to ripple through the assembly and drawing Jack and Ana out of their reverie. Faces turned in unison as the musicians faltered and ceased their playing.

The servant paused to catch his breath, chest heaving before he managed to croak out the words in terror: “Captain Clifton! Your property is ablaze!”

An immediate stunned silence followed his announcement, with murmurs of shock gradually swelling in volume.

“No,” whispered Jack, his horror lost amidst the rising cacophony. The devastating news broke his focus, the room spun, sweat dripped down his sides, Ana’s hand tightened upon his, yet he scarcely registered her gesture.

His beloved garden—his sanctuary. He could almost hear the sinister crackle of fire.

Reality reclaimed him with a sudden jolt, breaking the chains of paralysing shock. Words of reassurance and hands reaching out to steady him were ignored as he charged from the ballroom, the cool air almost slapping his face as he bolted towards the flickering orange glow on the horizon.

It grew more ominous with each passing second. He flew down the tunnel, breached the gate, the heat struck him with such force that it compelled him to recoil. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and permeated by the bitter tang of scorched flowers. His once-beautiful garden was now a chaotic scene of destruction.

A scream of despair clawed its way up his throat. Thomas had not merely attacked him; he had struck at his very heart.

Jack’s mind descended into the familiar, dark abyss where reality and haunting memories of battle became indistinguishable.

Through the billowing smoke he espied his home, still erect yet besieged by flames that began to gnaw at its walls.

The old impulse for self-destruction, which had nearly come to an end within him, ignited once more with explosive force and propelled him toward the house in a desperate sprint.

He plunged into the searing heat, fixated solely on a singular thought. A small container holding fragments of his past, his passport to oblivion. A dark incantation had commenced its echo within the recesses of his consciousness; each syllable drowned out both the crackling flames and the pounding of his own heart: “Secure the box, and all shall end.” This mantra repeated incessantly, driving him deeper into the inferno.

Oblivious to the peril surrounding him, he surged through the flames, his mind unwavering in its focus on the objective. Each breath, scalding as it was, served as a stark reminder of the fire’s relentless advance upon his sanctuary, yet such thoughts were needless now, his chamber was just ahead. He burst into it and ran towards the familiar wooden box nestled beneath his desk.

He unlatched the box and withdrew its contents. His fingers traced over the cold metal, an eerie sense of calm enveloping him. The weight in his palm was substantial; a tangible manifestation of a world to which he was prepared to bid farewell.

With the pistol pressed against his temple, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the distant crackling of fire as it devoured the last vestiges of his existence.

The orange glow of the conflagration cast a lurid light upon the distant horizon as Thomas ambled along the town’s outskirts, a sinister satisfaction creeping into his heart. He steadfastly kept his back to the fiery spectacle, directing his attention instead towards the path that led northward.

A cruel smile contorted Thomas’ features upon the sound of Jack’s anguished scream piercing the night. His satisfaction grew when, shortly thereafter, the echo of a gunshot reached his ears—heralding victory. He paused to savour the sensation of his heart beating in a rhythm of triumphant ecstasy.

He had accomplished his aim. He had obliterated the boy who dared to steal the love and adoration that was rightfully his—and his alone.

The pistol’s deafening report gave way to an overwhelming ringing in Jack's ears. Yet, contrary to his expectations, darkness did not envelop him. Upon opening his eyes, he beheld Ana standing before him with her arms entwined around his elbow, her breath coming in heavy gasps from her own dead sprint.

Small embers drifted away as her gown smouldered. Her pallid expression of shock transmuted into one of anger. She delivered a slap across his cheek, the sharp sting serving to draw him back from despair’s precipice.

She struck him once more. The world around him whirled, and the ringing in his ears now matched the throbbing of his cheek. She pounded upon his chest; her shouts dampened through the high-pitched echo. Each blow served to anchor him further in reality until at last he grasped her hands within his own.

“How dare you!” Her scream sliced through the reverberating air.

His countenance twisted in despair. He gestured to the chaos that enveloped them. “I am a man shattered. I am beyond repair.”

“No! You possess my heart!”

He fired a bitter snarl at the flames in the hallway. “I shall kill him; what else remains for me?”

The grasp she had on him was slipping, yet her resolve did not waver. “You belong with me, Jack Clifton,” said she, with terror, desperation, hope, and love—each emotion lending weight to her plea. “Please, I beg of you to understand!”

His gaze locked with hers, mirroring her fury; yet within the tempest, she discerned a glimmer of the man she had come to know and love. She harboured a fervent hope that this vestige might suffice to draw him back from the precipice.

A deafening crash reverberated through the dwelling as a portion of the roof succumbed. Horror widened his eyes when he realised that his beloved was on the verge of being trapped inside.

Searing heat invaded the chamber, casting a sinister glow upon their desperate visages. The air thrummed with an impending sense of doom as wooden beams groaned ominously overhead.

“Jack!” She clung to him; her voice scarcely audible above the roar of the flames. They ran towards the door. A massive fragment of the ceiling plummeted, hurtling towards them with deadly intent.

His body twisted protectively, drawing her close against him. The debris struck his back, a nail caught his jacket, yanking him backwards. He pulled away and felt the fabric tear.

Mustering his strength, he gathered her up into his arms amidst the billowing smoke, coughing and spluttering, then pressed on through the inferno, emerging into the hellscape that was once his tranquil garden.

Lord Fitzroy, accompanied by a battalion of steadfast men, descended upon the scene in a frenzied rush.

The inferno needed to be contained before it spread its malevolent wings. The winds, acting as vile accomplices, would the flames and direct their wrath towards the defenceless village.

Gradually, their concerted efforts began to yield results. The hedges were thoroughly drenched, and groups dashed about the exterior, striving to keep the flames at bay with an unceasing torrent of water drawn from the stream.

A cautious cheer rippled through the ranks; yet their eyes—reddened and watery—remained fixed in grim apprehension upon the gate where flames still danced with unabated fury—a glaring reminder that victory was not yet assured.

Jack burst from the smoke filled tunnel, holding Ana securely in his arms, halted, coughed, and set her down. She wrapped her arms around him, he reciprocated. The adrenaline from their escape began to wane, their legs buckled, yet even in their descent, he twisted his body, using it as a shield to protect Ana from their fall.

Charlotte rushed to their side, carefully examining their clothing, ensuring that no flames lingered upon the couple.

“They need to let go of each other,” said Mrs Hargreaves, trying to shield them from view, yet the couple rebuffed every effort to part them. Their clasp was steadfast in spite of their weariness, Ana’s face hidden against his chest as he held her protectively close to him.

Lady Fitzroy intervened, halting the attempts to separate them, recognizing their need for time to recover from the ordeal.

They remained thus for many moments, enfolded in the aftermath of their shared trauma and relief, heedless of the onlookers and the smouldering remnants of their recent tribulation.