The Trials of an Overestimated Hero

(The Burning of Moscow, 1812)

Please....
Not my city...

This was a disaster. No, far more than a disaster. Felix stood outside of his house, watching his people flee his city. What was he supposed to do? Napoleon's army was approaching Moscow and fast, and the city was to be evacuated. His heart sank into his stomach. Everything he'd worked so hard for was about to be taken away from him. He would be invaded again. His knees buckled and he felt, releasing a heavy breath as the cold ground made contact with his knees. He felt numb all over, as though there was nothing he could do. He couldn't let the French take his city, he couldn't bear to be put under someone's control again.

What else could he do though? He didn't have an army, he had the occupants of his city, but he was aware they'd rather flee than fight the large army heading in their direction. In theory there was no definite way to determine if the city would be overthrown, but the people were in a state of chaos anyway. Felix closed his eyes and shuddered deeply, cradling his head in his hands. He felt so weak, the first time he had really felt weak in a long time.

He paused for a moment, frowning deeply as he felt someone approach from behind. Opening his eyes he removed his pale hands and looked up, Count Rostopchin standing above him while looking out over the city. "We need to do something." To Felix, this translated into give me something to tell the people. Now. Felix frowned deeper and slowly stood, his knees still trembling weakly. He was at a loss, he never thought this would happen, he thought he was stronger than this, smarter than all of this. "Burn the city." Felix's eyes widened as the words slipped from his mouth. The Count also seemed startled by the idea, but nodded. "It's the best option, leave the French army with no resources to take." Felix was quiet, his beautiful city, his pride and joy, him...it was all going to be burnt to the ground.

"How do we do this?" Felix wracked his brain. "Explosives and simple fires." His lips were numb, his heart racing in his chest. He didn't know what would happen to him, if his city died with the flames would he die as well?

Would all of his efforts end in vain?

The Count walked away from him without another word. He gave the commands to the people that everything was to be destroyed. A determined look crossed Felix's face. If his people would fight the French, so would he. Wandering around his house he found plenty of wood and lit candles. He waited until he could see the flames licking at the edge of the city, the Kremlin, the one thing that had taken so very long to build and rebuild, was lit up in a fiery haze, smoke pouring from the large protecting wall. It would be rebuilt again, it would stand proud once again in the future. But for now it had to come down.

Lighting as much of his house on fire as he could, he stood in the middle of one of the hallways and watched the blaze. It grew and grew, swallowing the air around it and anything it could get its hot tendrils on. The flames licked up the walls greedily, sucking and devouring everything in its path. It was horrifying, but beautiful at the same time. A strangled gasp escaped the Russian as a part of the ceiling crashed down on him, he scrambled from the wreckage and winced.

He realized staying here much longer would surely get him killed, and ran for the exit. With the flames so high he barely made it out, his pants at one point catching fire and burning him badly. Cursing to himself he sat outside the house and flinched, touching the wounds on his left leg. His ankle had been charred gray, and angry simmering burns ran up his leg to his knee, sure to leave scars.

He stood, ignoring the pain in his leg. Approaching the small cliff he was on he gazed out over the city, bright orange and red as smoke billowed into the air. His heart broke in his chest, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. He wouldn't cry, not yet. He needed to see the ashes, the burned and cindered remains of himself before he could cry. Falling to his knees once more, his jaw clenched fiercely at his refusal.

"Let the army come."

I am nothing but ash