The old man was reading a book when the two doors of the council chamber were flung open, and six men came in. He raised his head to look at them and sighed.

“It’s over,” one began.

The elder simply looked back at the book, and the man crossed the room. But before he could do or say anything, the old man raised his head again.

“I heard,” he simply said.

There could be no bigger contrast between the two. The seated elder had almost no hair left, and most of his left side was a mass of visible scar tissue, a relic of an encounter with a Fire Canid fifty years before. The claw mark was highly visible, barely missing the eye.

By comparison, the man looked freshly graduated from wherever he’d been. Looking in his mid or late twenties – despite the fact that he was certainly over thirty, – impeccably shaved under a full mane of hair, without the slightest traces of what had been years of warfare by now.

“New Benton has fallen.”

The man snorted lightly, looking at the conquering hero, or presumably villain.

“Would not expect to find you here otherwise,” he noted.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“What did you expect? Pompous speech? Not my style.”

He looked at the troops standing behind their leader, before snorting again.

“It trips me, even today. To see mail and tabard and spear, and it’s not a game.”

“A game? It’s serious. With New Benton, I’ve got more territory now than ever. The Marches of the Montana are now a reality.”

“Of course it’s serious. No one got time to play games… or even the possibility to play them. You know, I was waiting to play.”

The man looked at his defeated enemy, with a look of incomprehension.

“Back then, when I was way younger than you. The hottest game ever, they said. Wait until you see what awaits you. And I waited, and I waited, and I never got to play it. I didn’t even get into college.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What does it matter? Looking at you makes me feel my age. You don’t understand. Almost no one can anymore. Who but us can remember the Fall, and what it was before? Back when we played games instead of living them.”

The man reached to grab the elder’s shoulder, and he shook him, before pushing himself out of his chair.

“I can still walk. Not fast, but still.”

Four of the soldiers moved to surround him and escort him out of the former council room. As he moved toward the exit, he stopped and turned to watch his enemy, still standing at the head of the table.

“Before I get dumped into whatever gaol you intend for me, a piece of advice.”

“Really?”

“This is not the Ancient times, and empires fall easily. Institutions last longer than emperors. Build an empire, don’t conquer it.”

“And why should I need your advice? I’ve conquered you, after all.”

“Because we are not your enemies, Albert Maistry. The world is.”

The warlord looked as his defeated enemy walked out of the room and shook his head.

You don’t fight the world. Men will suffice.