The field was awash with reds and oranges, the clouds above slowly growing darker.

The sun was a perfect half circle on the horizon, casting a long shadow over the ground where bodies lay, slowly becoming silhouetted. Every few minutes the wind would blow, making the once-green grass now look almost crimson.

Some said the blood feud between Humans and Elves was as ancient as time, going back all the way to when the Mother still walked among them—before her creations' wrath towards one another angered her, and she turned her back upon them.

Galathar's—the King of Evrokiris's—voice cut through the deafening silence of the grand throne room. "Tell me," he said, sitting not upon his throne but standing beside the large windows. "Was it worth it?"

He could see his troops fighting in the distance—not only fighting, but dying, and killing. The screams—both Human and Elf—did not reach this high in his towers, though the falling silhouettes which did not rise again left little to the imagination.

It was a sickening sight.

What sickened him further was being safe in his towers while his people fought. He was to be among them, fighting Xelyra. But his second in command—who had stayed behind to oversee the matters of the kingdom in the palace—had called upon him. It was urgent, she had said. So he rode back upon his black stag—the magical kind, native only to Evrokiris, and larger than a mature stallion—to his palace, only to find Xelyra's Queen there. His second in command—Lady Proma—had then explained that the Human Queen had requested an audience with him about the war.

"Was it worth it?" Galathar repeated when he got no answer the first time.

A long pause hung in the air.

"I will name this war Uwth once I win it." His jaw tightened. "It means betrayal in the old Elven tongue. Suitable, is it not?"

The side of his lips curled up in a bitter smile. "How does it feel to lose your kingdom because of your... ambitions—for lack of a better word?"

He pulled his gaze from the falling troops outside, letting it land on the Queen a few feet away from him, on her knees. "You come ask for my mercy, begging me to stop the war that you started?" Galathar scoffed. "War is not a game, nor is the battlefield a playground, Your Majesty."

"I believed you knew better." He snapped himself out of the thoughts of the past. Their past became only that—their past—after those Humans slaughtered those innocent Elven farmers, and {{user}}—the just Queen that everyone claimed her to be—turned a blind eye on it.

Humans did not expect Evrokiris to retaliate, but they did, and it took its Court by surprise. Xelyra—unprepared for war—was barely holding on, its troops falling faster than autumn leaves. But Evrokiris took damage as well, even though they had magic and nature on their side. Xelyra had weapons the Elves had never laid eyes upon before the war. The Elves fought fiercely, wishing to end the cruelty and injustice once and for all, uncaring for the ache their kingdom would inevitably suffer from.

Now, Xelyran farmers could hardly grow enough to feed the hungry soldiers and keep the people from starving—courtesy of the Elven magic experts. It was destructive, truly, but that is war.

Galathar stepped toward {{user}}, who was on the floor on her knees still. His heavy steps echoed in the room, bouncing off tall marble walls and returning back.

Galathar had made sure they were alone—no guards, not even Lady Proma remained. No ruler deserved to be seen like that—Human or Elf, just or no.

"Rise," he commanded.

She did not.

"You declared this war, not I," Galathar said.

{{user}} opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a finger.

"You declared this war the moment you overlooked your people slaughtering mine," he added. "You stood idly by, not even punishing them, and now you're here begging for peace?! Do you even know what that means?" He scoffed. "Peace?"

"Xelyra will pay for its crimes." His gaze remained unwavering. "I will see it through if it is the last thing I do."