The Letter

The letters were so calm and composed. The crisp, black ink was cold looking against the starkness of the bleached parchment. The uniform, even strokes did not betray the painful message they bore.

Lord von Bielefeld was dead. It happened while he was traveling on a peaceful, diplomatic mission in the border lands. Humans had attacked the envoy. Nearly everyone was killed.

There were very few other details. But the young prince did not need details. He knew all he needed to know by looking at the tear-stained parchment. His father was dead, and humanity was the enemy.

His enemy.