PROLOGUE 

Under embellished, leftover castles. Where the emerald green grass would begin to grow over the stone bricks that were torn away from the fog. Yet, this castle was not torn away by fog, it was being torn away by the flames of the Madmen. Whispers of ash echoed through the thick, tension-filled air. They called to Ambrose, who stood in front of his broken kingdom, his broken name. His iron sword was dug into the ground. Smelling in the smoke of his ablaze kingdom, his heart wrenched in agony. The pain he felt was unbearable. The soldier tried to stand, but was too weak to keep fighting. For all he knew, he was only fighting for nothing now. 

“These madmen… They must perish… One day…” His voice spoke, with grit laced within. Blood dropped onto the grass, and he collapsed down with it. The knife layed criminally beside him. After so much, he had died to see his kingdom fall to pieces. The madmen had destroyed all, with little to no humanity. Their bloodlust for revenge had curdled into the boiling pot of conflict in the lands of Fog. 

A storm erupted, and the crackle of thunder came. Raindrops, thick water sunk into the rich soil. This was the end of the battles, of the madmen’s triumphs. No person would see the light of day again. Its rays would no longer dapple through the clouds or shine in the sky. Dull, the world had turned. The lands would no longer bear food and fruit for the people. The world was a wasteland, waiting for its emerging end. It was the end, the dead end of this battle. 

This meaningless battle… The General of the Madmen thought. He looked over his dead soldiers. In metal armour, covered in dust, dirt and scars. Severed heads in the endless battlefields. Additionally, the landscape was interrupted by waving flags of pride for their kingdoms. The Madman's flag was the flag of the crow, a symbol of death to the other kingdoms. But to his kingdom, it was the symbol of soldiering pride. They took the leftovers, and never left anything over. 

“General, we’ve scanned the whole place, from body to body. I assure you, they’re all dead.” One of the soldiers said to the General. The Deputy General walked up, dragging his sword behind his feet. It was splattered in fresh blood, and gold. “You’re wrong.” Spat the deputy, “There was one more survivor, and as we come to learn, there will be survivors that will emerge from under the caves and ruins of this place.” 

The General shook his head. “Leave them be.” His voice was tender, and sombre. The Deputy commanded the rest to leave. The soldiers marched into the ash-ridden kingdom, whilst the Deputy and General stayed. “Cassian, I saw my son in that battle.” He said, his eyes rising over to the sky. “Damned that Fortuna, damn her…” His lips began to quiver, with tears falling down from his crystal eyes. “Her wheel spun, and came the death of my son.” The Deputy stood in silence, placing a hand on the General’s shoulder. His eyes looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry for your loss, General.” He muttered to the General.

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“Stop calling me the General, not when we’re speaking of my son Cassian.” He said. “Ambrose didn’t deserve to die… He was a good soldier, I saw my son on the battlefield, fighting ‘till his last chance… Then the kingdom set ablaze, and I’m responsible for letting him die. How does a father do that?--” 

“What did you say?” Cassian stepped back, pulling his sword out from the soil beneath them. His eyes set angrily, while he began to shake in fear. 

“You said Ambrose,” 

“And what about it?” 

“Ambrose was a soldier against the Madmen, he stated that he would fight  against us before he fled.” 

“And what of it? Can’t you see the cruelty of our power?” 

“Don’t say that again, Cyprus.” 

“You watch your mouth, Cassian, can’t you open your eyes to the crimes that we have done?” 

“You have the tongue of a snake.” 

Cyprus set down his sword, deep into the ground. “I will not be called a snake by you, Cassian.” Cassian dragged his sword forth, retaining a prideful posture before his sword easily swept across the air. 

“Don’t do that… Cassian…” He grumbled, spit dropping to the grass. What was it that the Madmen couldn’t see? They had experienced the cruelty a decade ago, before emerging as the strongest band of people. They came back for revenge, yet now their actions were unredeemable. Cyprus had grown as a soldier, a squire, then a knight. He had grown to take his own squire- Ambrose. Yet… He left their army, for the best. 

The king of the Madmen was pleased with Cyprus’s loyalty, taking him as the General. Now, he saw the next loyal soldier, the loyal Deputy- this was the new general of his Madmen. The General pulled his own sword from the soil, mud spitting as the rain began to pour heavily down. “Tell them you killed me, Cassian. I’m not a worthy soldier, not a worthy general for these people; I died at my own will. I’m going to save the poor boy, the one that you pushed to the depths, to the extreme.” The man huffed, feeling his blood boil in anger. Cassian’s brows raised, curling slightly at the inner corners of his face. “Cyprus, how..--” 

“You’ll learn how, Cassian. It might take an hour, an afternoon, a day, a night, a week, A fortnight, a month, a year, perhaps it might take a decade; But you will learn how to lead these soldiers to even more merciless glory. Remember, though. The soldiers you kill, the ones that you oppose; they are fathers, mothers, parents, children. They cook, clean, and do all the things a human would do. Take care, I beg.” 

The thunder cracked, the droplets of water fell down on his shaved head, and rolled onto his seasoned face. The general turned, limping in his shining armour. The red cape he bore on his shoulders waved the deputy goodbye. The silhouette in front of him faded into the thick fog. Cassian folded his lips, turning back to the troops as they walked in an aligned fashion. The world was silent now. There was no room for rebellion, for all of it was gone, except for the dead bodies left behind.