They had travelled a long road to get to where there were. And it hadn't been easy, either. The path they had chosen was full of hardship, sacrifice, death and destruction. They had faced many dilemmas – ambushes, injuries, blockades, the countless times they had been outnumbered – but somehow they had made it through. But it wasn't over. Not yet. The biggest challenge was still approaching them, accompanied by the sounds of clanking armour, of clashing metal and of other sounds that were enough to make the bravest warrior cower in fear. No-one did, however. No-one turned away and fled from their possible doom coming towards them through the valley, drawing ever closer and bringing with it the feeling of terror only war can create.
The sun was beginning to set, but it didn't really make a difference. The thick clouds blocked most of the sunlight, and what did pass through them did not light up the area, but instead cast an eerie orange glow over the barren land on which the Altean army stood. The rugged mountains of rock – the only objects separating them and the terrible forces of the kingdom of Doluna – were crude and jagged, jutting upwards and surrounding everything and everyone, but providing no protection. The hard packed earth underneath the feet of the Akaneians was dry and unfamiliar, as was everything about this land. However, no-one complained. It is hard to say criticizing words about the location that might become your final resting place.
A loud crash echoed through the deep valley, causing Tiki, the Princess of the Divine Dragons, to jump. She grabbed the closest hand nearby and clung on to it, the hand just so happening to belong to a slim, red-haired individual. Xane said nothing. For once, there was nothing for him to say. War was something he hadn't been keen on for most of his life, but especially not since the battles with the Earth Dragons. Since then he'd really despised it; every clash of swords, every terrified scream, all reminding him of the terrible things he had seen in those countless battles.
He looked down at the small, green haired girl quaking next to him, trying not to wince as her sharp fingernails dug into the palm of his hand. She huddled herself against his leg, clinging onto him with her other arm. The shape-shifter sighed. Had it not been the White Sage's orders for him to watch over her, he probably would have told her to go and bug someone else by now.
Another loud crash. Xane looked around him. The Horseman, Wolf, was doing nothing save looking ahead of him, a blank expression on his face. The Paladins Cain and Abel would occasionally shoot each other nervous glances. The Swordmaster Navarre's expression was as good as impossible to read, the Sage Merric was looking tense, the Sniper Jeorge was doing nothing save fiddling aimlessly with his bow and everyone was staring ahead of them, watching the large gap between the mountains with constant vigilance. It was as if no-one even dared to breath.
Prince Marth was standing a few feet to Xane's right, expression blank, the sword Falchion in hand and the slight breeze stirring his cape. He, too, was looking ahead of him, but in a strange, unseeing way. He was too young to have to experience these things, Xane speculated. Well, young in his standards, at least.
There was another loud crash, and through a slight mask of fog, the Altean army finally caught sight of the forces of the enemy. The thick smoke rising from fires on the ground distorted their features; cruel, twisted, jagged shadows, chilling the air around them and sending shivers up the spines of onlookers.
Xane chanced a glance to his left. A few feet away, the magic wielder Ellerean clutched his Thoron tome to his chest like it was his lifeline, his teacher, Wendell, having a similar tense air about him. The Sorcerer Etzel stood next to the two Sages, his cloak flowing out behind him in the rapidly strengthening gale, the gale which was bringing a scarily worried frown to the face of prince Michalis of Medon, holding the reigns of his mount in one hand and a silver lance in the other.
As the incoming militia closed in, prince Marth closed his eyes, breathed deeply and slowly brought Falchion up, holding it in front of him, the tip of the blade pointing skywards and catching one last, fading ray of sun, reflecting it so blindingly that the two Clerics, Lena and Maria, had to shield their eyes.
They took this as the sign they had been waiting for. As the Falcon Knights mounted and took to the skies, the Generals readied their lances, the Snipers aimed their arrows and the Heroes unsheathed their blades, Xane did nothing but look on, the Divine Dragon princess still beside him, and wait for Doluna to begin their attack.
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