A scene of bloody battle.

A young man, yet, a hardened soldier, adorned in intricate black armor stood amongst what remained of his soldiers, each equipped with weaponry, and clad in their own ornate armor. His gaze was intense, stoic, his grip on his weapon tight, the blade stained with blood in the aftermath of battle.

In the background was a scene of carnage.

Blood, broken arrows and swords, fallen bodies of both enemy and ally. Thick smoke filled the air from burning fires, pluming upwards into a dark, cloudy sky, while the smell of iron and acrid smoke filled their nostrils. The signal of oncoming rain would never wash away what was done, the blood soaking into dirt, the souls lost in a brutal, scarring battle.

Then, from somewhere across the bloodied field, the sound of hooves, multiple sets. The captain of the knighthood, Sebastian Ravencroft, turned his gaze towards the noise. There, he saw amongst the wreckage, who should it be, but his majesty, the queen, looking as regal as ever, riding through the remains of war, accompanied by her royal guards.

Upon arriving to the group of remaining soldiers, the horses came to a stop, whinnying and tramping the blood stained grass.

Sebastian stepped forward in an exhausted confidence, kneeling before the queen, and bowing his head in utmost respect. For the first time since the war began, it was good news, triumph, he was about to grace her presence with.

"Your majesty."