Death stood in silence as snow swept against the black cloak that hung from his shoulders.
The golden light of the morning sun spilled over the mountain, reflecting off the covering of snow, creating a beautiful sight.
Ahead of him, Carthage stood tall, its walls carved into the side of the mountain like the very bones of a god. They were high, stern, and unyielding, the first obstacle between him and the Flame that burned in the bowels of the city.
Behind him, thousands stirred. The campfires of his army had burned low and had long since been put out. All that remained right now was the waiting game.
Soldiers sharpened swords that had already been whetted too many times. Archers checked strings. Riders paced restlessly, their beasts, tamed monsters, stamping frost into the ground. The mood was restless. Eager. Hungry.
