[ WP ] The last soldier of a once great empire sits alone in a small room . There is a knock on the door . Two men in uniforms have come for him .

The knock on the door was unheard, the soldier's head remained down. He was lost in thought. Creaking hinges, the door to the small waiting room opened, letting in the cooler breeze from the hallway but still he did not notice. 
 
 `` They're ready for you now.'' 
 
 This he heard. The soldier put his palms on the table in front of him and raised his body up to his full height. He looked up at the two men in their gray uniforms and let out a long exhale. It was time. 
 
 In his youth the old soldier had fought for the once great Zarhaust empire. He was the last one left of the old war. Luck had spared him from death in battle and the people of the Largund had saved him from Wanvet's sword when he turned sides. He warned them of the raid and hid with them when the vecrots rolled in, crushing and burning everything in their path. Rockets were launched and neither side won the war. Mutual destruction, they call it. It was the small Beyrso nation that now claimed the lands but they did n't walk them. Too much contamination. The old soldier and his Largund companions had hid deep enough in a cave and later found passage out following an underground stream. A handful of survivors to have made it. 
 
 `` It's a bit of larger crowd this time.'' One of the assistants in gray said as he braced him on his left. The other man gently holding him on his right. They were more to steady him than to carry the weight of his bony frame. Resigned to his fate, as he did not like public speaking, he let them lead him to the larger room where the students were waiting. If history was to not be repeated, it should first be known. He took a seat and for the last time shared the last of his stories. 
 

