Prologue
The march stopped. Camp was made, and a great darkness covered the whole of the army, and it was of three parts.
The first was the great big darkness of night, with no sources of light to be found. If the sun still shone, setting in the west, the last tendrils of daylight would illuminate the formation as it went about its tent building. If it had been a clear night, the moon, now at the height of fulness, would've brightly illuminated the road and the clearing, and the stars would have broken the night sky further with twinkling beauty. If there were fires… but no, of course there was no fire. There had already been enough fire, and so there was no more fire needed. In fact, so practiced was the army at setting camp in the dark that there was no source of light needed, and so the darkness held.
The second darkness was in the spirits of the soldiers. For that which stopped the moon and the stars was not tree coverage. It was neither clouds nor storms. It was not of any natural origin, for it came from the smoke of the village burning in the distance behind them. The second darkness filled each soldier, as they worried for the sake of their own villages, their own families. And for those who had come from nothing to join the army, it filled them with dread for the fate of their immortal souls.
The third darkness was hard to notice, though the astute could reasonably trace it back to the officers, still mounted and deep in thought, circled around each other to create a dense darkness. But this created darkness was just a special form of the second darkness, the darkness on the spirits of generals who must ponder the consequences of their actions for the sake of their country, their men, and their souls. But the third darkness indeed had its source in the circle, one young officer whose own darkness dwarfed the other two kinds of darkness and made them complete.
The young man was strong with fair skin, crystal blue eyes, and dark hair. A beard might have been forming on his face, but that could've been the dirt or a trick of shadows. His face spoke of an easy smile, but his eyes showed that he might never smile again.
The third darkness was his, and to all in the circle, the only noticeable darkness emanated from him, and from the orders he held in his hand. It was deep and soul crushing, and its weight brought tears to the eyes of the officers in the circle, but not to the young man. The young man's eyes were empty and void. They were the eyes of a man who'd been ordered to kill his idol.