Chapter 0. Fall of the Northern Kingdom

The smell of charred flesh filled the bleak air of the citadel. Glen stood torpidly amongst the scattered bodies, like a flower in the breeze. His scabbed hands barely held the hilt of his sword, the tip of the red-crusted blade grazing the ground. His eyes were closed as though he slumbered. And though his face was marred with blood, his charming looks seemed to glow even more. His long, tied-back hair of a pale coral colour swayed in the harsh wind, as droplets started to fall from the dark clouds above. The hush of rain got louder slowly. Snow turned into slush, the red stain of blood melting away into the cracked stone floor. Glen opened his eyes, the golden glow in them waning, returning to their deep brown colour. He stared up at the grey sky, his lips parting to speak.

"Ah.. was that me...?" His tired voice muttered as he spoke to himself, the lifeless bodies around him unable to entertain a conversation. It was a shame; he took no pleasure in silence.

As if his discontent was answered, the tap of steps echoed from the citadel's collapsed gates. A man approached, his very essence ghastly and chilling. Black long hair and dark clothing, the scent of death lingering around him.

Glen straightened upon the man's advent. They were dressed similarly, in a dark blue jacket decorated with silver, and covered in blood. The difference lay in rank, the man's uniform, that of a commander's, more adorned and impressive than Glen's own. An insignia was embroidered to his arm, a silver-blue crown, enclosed by swords and winged horses on either side. The emblem of the ducal family. From his shoulders, a deep black cape fluttered in the wind, torn and tattered. A dark leather belt carried his sword's empty sheath, as he gripped the gilded and jewelled hilt in his right hand. In his left, a head was clutched uncomfortably. Blood still dripped from the severed neck; the cut clean.

"And they call me the monster," Glen scoffed lightly, the action taking more energy than he would've liked. The commander's distant eyes showed no interest in his knight's banter, and Glen saw no need to continue. His expression hardened.

"I've taken care of the castle." He reported solemnly. "... Only the tyrant remains." It was then the commander finally parted his thin lips. Clouds of breath escaped his mouth as he spoke.

"Good work."

Glen dipped his head low as his commander walked past him, heading towards the ruined and battered castle. His bruised and aching body moved forward in the bitter cold, his hands and feet numb.

Today. This war ends today. 

***