Short story

At every conflict it is watching, the anger grows with each war, the tears flow with every drop of blood. The ironclad fools clashing sword to spear, shield to arrow, blood with blood. But amongst the chaos, a feeble boy yearning for place of safety. his camp burned, his healing craft taken. Fearful, dodging arrow and man alike, he spots ahead a small hill. The carnage around seemed to halt as if protected by an angel , the grass untrodden and green. None of this mattered to the boy, none of it came to mind, he only wished for a haven of rest, and that is what he found.But when the hill was reached, something strange happened. The once green grass turned into coal, and the dirt around it into rot. He looked up to the top of the hill. A lone figure, standing calmly, staring at the pitiful sight down below. Such beauty it held...It had wings spanning across what seemed the entire battlefield. Each feather the color of the deepest saphire, yet gleaming like gold. Its body wispy,black like shadow but with streams of endless fire raging back and forth. The boy had never been in such awe, but in that moment, the creature's attention turned to him. Suddenly the air grew cold, the clashing of metal and screams of violence turned to silence. Something started to form above the creature, twisting, turning and convulsing. Eventually a symbol was formed. It looked like a letter, but the boy had never seen anything like it. But then another one of the strange symbols appeared. Slowly, as the boy stared, the final symbol had appeared. Soon he-