"WHERE IS KING RAGNAR?!" A dwarven commander's scream tore across the battlefield all of a sudden. "He was fighting the Villain! WHERE IS OUR KING?!"
No one answered him.
The dwarven commander grabbed the nearest elf by the collar and shook her, but the woman crumpled in his grip with tears streaming down her face and nothing behind her eyes except the golden warmth still ringing through her blood.
"SNAP OUT OF IT!" Another dwarven officer on the coalition's left bellowed at the elven line dissolving around him. "THE BATTLE ISN'T OVER, FIGHT!"
His words bounced off a thousand backs already turned toward the sky.
Whatever the elves were seeing was invisible to every other race on the field.
There was no golden light, no warmth, no ancestral voice in the blood of anyone who wasn't born an elf.
To the dwarves and Fujimori, hundreds of thousands of their allies had simply broken after Quinlan spoke a few words, becoming weeping messes.
