The night skies were clear, allowing the moon's radiance to shine on the world without obstruction.
The winds were soft and cool, and in combination with the starry night sky, any person would have felt peace… yet, peace couldn't be farther from the lands of Eistoriel at this point.
A lone figure stood in the skies with only their silhouette being evident, if one looked from any distance.
They appeared to have long hair, since it fluttered softly under the wind's influence, and one would have even assumed it was a woman, but that observation would have also been wrong.
Eistoriel's King gazed at the world below him with seeming calmness—arms folded behind him. But only his approaching warlords could sense the trouble in his heart.
Despite his location, it was safe to say he could behold the destruction that had happened across the provinces. The very earth gave him report of the damage his lands had suffered, and indeed his heart bled.
"In only a few days," he muttered, raising his gaze to look at the distant stars. He had spent an incredible amount of time in the world; there was likely no one with his experience; and as such, his resolve.
Yet for the first time in millennias, he doubted himself. Had his adamance been right? Even if his intentions had been good?
He considered how restoring the damaged Eistoriel wasn't too big an issue. It would only take time and resources. Both of which he had in excess.
Still. He felt dissatisfied, very much so. It had taken a whole lot to bring his Kingdom to those heights; even for him, it had been work. And in only seven days, such devastation had occurred.
"The fault is mine," he sighed, but this time he didn't speak to himself, for his subjects had arrived.
Converging upon his location with blazing speeds, all eighteen warlords arrived at the same time, and the momentum they generated was so mighty that the trees below bent and hundreds even snapped.
Their arrival had caused a windstorm, but the King appeared unfazed, and indeed, he was.
"My Lord!" They voiced in unison, bowing before him and remaining bowed, only Ishnal and the eldest woman amongst the warlords raised their heads.
The King's gaze landed on them, and his eyes softened. He sighed again.
"I mourn," he revealed.
"We all do, my Leige," the eldest woman spoke. Her features carried deep groves, and her eyes appeared sunken; she had shed too much tears in those seven days than she had in her life. She had also not slept—none of the warlords had. They couldn't.
The king hummed something, but only he knew it.
"This has been difficult for you all. For that, you have my apology."
The king paused, taking note of how his Warlords shook at his statement.
"Indeed, I should have swept our enemies away the moment they arrived, but it appears I underestimated their abilities. For that, I offer my apologies again."
"I have also sent two of your own to their deaths…"
The king threatened to continue speaking when Ishnal cut him short—unable to take it anymore.
"My Lord, forgive me, but those things belong to the past. What matters now is what you intend to do tomorrow."
"We have accepted our losses. We mourn them, but we must move forward… It's what they would have wanted. You taught us that more than anyone," Ishanal's eyes carried deep emotions as he spoke.
The king was not offended that he had been interrupted. No. Instead, he felt an even heavier burden now that he saw how much his subjects had suffered.
"In fact," the eldest lady stepped in.
"it's a shame that we could not but force you to intervene. It shows we have grown too accustomed to peace. And have become weak," she said, bowing her head. Although not completely fair on them, all the warlords resonated with her.
That generation of Eistorians had not seen war before, only little struggles here and there, leaving them inexperienced when compared to their predecessors.
She, being nearly ninety, happened to be the only one with memories of war. But that was far too long ago; she had only been a child then. Karai would have been the other one.
"No. The fault is mine," the King corrected. "I failed to grant you even greater strength." From how he spoke one would believe they were his children, and indeed, to him, they were.
"We trust the next generation of warlords will reach those realms of power. We are far too old to carry anything greater than this," the woman chuckled, studying her palm as she slowly clenched and opened it.
She recalled when she received a blessing from their king. That power had not lost its luster even slightly. It was hard to believe it had been over six decades.
Her body had simply grown too frail to handle it like she could during her youth.
Her thoughts faltered.
In her youth, a kingdom could have fallen to her might in only three days. She found herself reminiscing about those days—when she and Karai were the youngest among the Warlords. Time was a cruel master.
The king thought about her words and agreed.
"Stand." He commanded, and the others arose. His eyes approached the youngest of the group. All three were already in their late thirties, but they were still eligible for new blessings. He would begin their training right after his current task was accomplished.
"How long till dawn?" The King asked.
"About five hours, my Lord," Ishnal responded.
"Then we shall stay here till then… You will tell me what you've learnt about our enemies. By dawn, I will end this war."
Whilst speaking, the ground beneath thir gathering gave birth to pillars that converged around them condensing into the shape of a castle identical to the one in Lorshdel—only much smaller and made purely of earth.
The king erected a silver barrier around his temporary castle. It would take an elder dragon to even hope of leaving a dent in it.
He believed he needed at least that much to keep his warlords safe.Moreover, he had long been aware of the eye watching them since they gathered—and he allowed it to remain.
Those who monitored them were far away, and erecting that barrier effectively cut them out.
Now, within safe walls fitted with lights and adorned with illusory details born from their King's great magic, the warlords prepared to give official reports when they all fell to ground, unconscious.
A swift silence befell the place.
This, too, was the King's doing: who picked their figures up and laid them on make-shift beds. This had been his plan from the start. They had not rested because of his decree.
The King sat in the center of the circle he created with their bodies. Tendrils of what looked like ordinary emerald light, but were his essence, came out of him to connect with them.
He strengthened the power within them that belonged to him. They would wake up feeling refreshed and full of vigor, even if they did not need to do any fighting.
The King did this while he waited, and it wasn't until he sensed the rising of the sun that he arose.
Only then did he take off the influence that had caused the Warlords to sleep. To which they immediately sprang up, half bewildered, half understanding what he had done and why.
Nevertheless, they felt the need to voice complaints, unfortunately, caution quickly intercepted that desire.
Their King was no longer in a talking mood. More than that, he had donned his armor of war—a sight too regal for words to convey. All they could do was stare.