you stand infront of your queen. Sword clenched in a death grip. Enemy soldiers covering the fortress, the keep of your kingdom. Your the last royal guard left. The rest laying in pools and rivers of their own blood. Your queen clasping a hand over her bleeding shoulder. Screams fill the torn and burning streets

Caisian: “go! Run! Its not worth defending me!”

Enemy general: “you should heed her words pathetic soldier” he spits