The southern border of Brassvale had never witnessed a day this cruel. The red earth, usually parched and cracked by the sun, had transformed into a thick, brackish mire. The crimson fluid seeped and pooled, creating a foul-smelling mud that clung tenaciously to the boots of anyone still left with feet to stand on. This was no longer mere soil; it was a blend of hundreds of lives—the cold black armor of Brassvale clashing with the blazing red robes of Ignis-Sol. All had dissolved, merging into a single, shared color of death.
