The battlefield was cloaked in smoke and ash. After the explosion of light and power, silence briefly ruled the war-torn plains. The dust settled slowly, revealing a massive crater carved deep into the center of the warfront. At its heart, Bruno Galgameish lay broken.
His right hand was mutilated, twisted and scorched. His face bore deep gashes, one eye completely shut, the other wide open, glassy and unmoving. His left shoulder was horribly dislocated. The commander of the Royal Army—the wall against the Blazzarene horde—lay unmoving in the ruined center of the plains.
Across from him stood Reis, breathing heavily. His arms were bloodied, trembling from exhaustion, but still strong enough to hold his sword. He looked at Bruno with something that resembled respect.
"A shame," Reis said, voice hoarse. "You had the soul of a true warrior, Bruno Galgameish. We could've shared ale... and songs of battle. Perhaps even stories of our scars."
