The Glorious Dead | A 687-Word Fantasy Short Story
Plus a fantasy prompt to spark your imagination.
The Wanderer stood in front of the cenotaph, admiring the stonework.
Cut from a massive boulder, the memorial was large enough that ten grown men could not encircle it with their arms. The figures of countless soldiers were etched into its surface, warriors locked in fierce combat against an endless horde of foes. A sad bundle of wilted lilies lay at its feet.
He took a deep breath and traced the runes carved into the stone with his fingertips:
Hail to the glorious dead.
The brave, honored, foolish dead, as nameless now as they were in life. Nothing but a number to slake the king’s thirst for power.
The glorious dead indeed.
