He ran up the stone stairs, scaling them two by two. The sword, hanging from the sheath on his waist, was clinking noisily against his thigh like an offbeat drummer announcing the momentous occasion.
The roof of the castle was blown clean through by the tools of war. Rains had poured in and moss was growing on the stairs. The destruction of the vast space looked like a gaping wound. The end of an era, he happily thought.
As he steadily ascended the castle walls, he passed windows that looked out onto the vast fields that had once been immaculate. Now they were scattered with corpses and bonfires smoldering.
It was a long war – a world war with too many dead on all…
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