Awaken

The wind gently works it's way through the small opening in a forest. There's a distinct abscence of sound, not even a bird chirps in this place now absent of life. The deafening silence broken by the gentle billowing of banner flags.

The emerald green grass in the opening of The Unending Woodland is collaged with the remains of great iron work - humanity has decided to lay their hatred bare and return to an idea uttered only by the truly deranged - war.

And this is what becomes of that idea. As the wind carresses the remains of those that were sent to war through no decision of their own, it reaches a mass that has recieved a miracle.

They stir.

A mass of iron, covered in deep scars, dents and breaks remains still. The resplendent aquamarine sky and its painterly whisps of cloud greets them like a lifelong friend. A beauty that humanity has deemed heaven throughout history. They, gain sight.

Heaven leaves the view as the Earth takes centre stage. They glance down. The mud, and dirt and grass are haphazardly dusting the dented and gouged iron body. They turn to the right and realise they lay at the circumference of a deep crater. No doubt the acts of those turned to war, not happy to lay waste to just humanity, they have to permanently scar the earth as they go.

A close look at a particularly deep indent caves in what They think could be an appendage...an arm? A leg?...They aren't sure until suddenly, the body begins to creak and groan.

They are moving.

Two arms awkwardly plant their hands - two mighty spiked mace - into the crimson soaked mud. The gears in the elbow joints whir and jam but eventually lock allowing Them to gently push.

They are sat up.

The scene in front of Them; men and women, boys and girls, clad in iron in an effort to protect themselves lay lifeless, in utter disrepair. Dirt covers most of their visages but some can be seen mouths agape, eyes wide. Those so doomed as to be called Soldiers are never truly ready.

They...feel.

Their hollow chest fills and Their iron head, carved open on one side by the cause of the crater, stares at the scene in despair. They struggle to comprehend.

Their metal head turns 180 degrees, behind Them, more great works of iron, just like Them, also lay lifeless.

Suddenly, as if the force of the despair manifest like a spell to its caster, the words "why" echo ever so gently from the hollow head.

The answer to this question? Nobody knows, nobody ever will know. This tragedy and this miracle is known only to Them and to the Heavens.