Chapter Text
On the horizon, the setting sun could be seen turning the sky a beautiful shade of orange from the tower window. Malachai continued staring at the contrast between the beautiful sight of nature and the horrifying scene stretching out below his feet.
In the distance, bodies were piling up. Becoming more and more visible. He narrowed his eyes when he saw a vaguely familiar commander being hurried away on a stretcher, his dominant arm literally hanging from his side. Malachai pressed his lips together, knowing they would probably have to amputate it. There was only so far the healers' magic could go. And with so many wounded... it was nearly impossible for them to devote themselves to saving limbs, considering all the energy and time it would take to mend something as complex as nerves and bones.
"Your Majesty, the western flank is retreating."
The soft, sweet voice, like warm chestnuts, abruptly announced beside him.
"And the third battalion lost its position... two minutes ago."
"And the northern flank?"
Malachai turned in time to see Kiara close her eyes, completely still. Only the sound of screams and metal clashing against metal could be heard.
"Surrounded."
Despite knowing it was nearly impossible for Kiara to be wrong, and being fully aware that it was truly impossible for her to be lying, he found himself asking:
"Are you sure?"
She pointed beyond the trees, where even fae eyes could not see.
"There are no more of our soldiers there." She hesitated for a moment. "We've never suffered losses like this before."
Suddenly, her head snapped to the side. Malachai tried not to flinch at the sight of her eerily glassy eyes.
"They're advancing on the camp."
Malachai muttered a curse. His armies were no longer enough to handle it on their own. That plague was spreading faster than he had anticipated. And that meant he needed to change his plans drastically. Ready or not, the time had come.