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The brief reprieve brought about by the Meteor was, for the people of Aleisterre, a moment to catch their breath. But for the people of Selwyn, it was pure, unrelenting annihilation.
Countless ordinary soldiers perished. The requisitioned elite forces of knights and grand knights alike were crushed beneath the devastating impact of that apocalyptic meteor.
Wizards and magicians, rare and precious assets within the Selwyn ranks stationed on the frontlines, were turned to ash in an instant.
With a single strike, Selwyn's momentum was utterly shattered. A full third of its remaining combat forces were obliterated.
Aleisterre's letter requesting that Selwyn surrender was finally delivered to Selwyn's capital, a land now steeped in ruin and despair, with the assistance of many messengers in relay.
The soldier tasked with the final stretch of delivery pulled his hood low over his eyes, unwilling to look upon the capital's bleak streets, which were once glorious but had since been hollowed to the point of unrecognizability.
"I just don't understand… why did we have to go to war with Aleisterre in the first place…?"
His fingers brushed the folded letter tucked in his coat—a plea for surrender from Aleisterre's envoy. He felt a glimmer of a dangerous hope.
"Maybe surrender wouldn't be such a bad choice after all. The Church of Light, the other kingdoms—they wouldn't let one...
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