Mesha watched the world crumble around him.
Everything , all the plans, all the councils, all the speeches, burned to ash before his eyes.
He had prepared for this day. Gods knew how much he had prepared. He had hardened his heart, sharpened his will, convinced himself he could bear the weight . And yet, when the test came, when the moment that should have crowned his reign finally arrived... this was the result.
The day was lost.
His ears rang. The messengers spoke, their words spilling like meaningless noise. Names, numbers, directions , he heard none of it. All that reached him was the single truth that broke him like a hammer to glass: the army was gone.
Scattered like chaff in a storm.
He stared at the field, numb. The crown , the one his grandfather had spent the last of his soul protecting , seemed to fade before him, a ghost of gold slipping through his fingers.
He had failed him. Again.
"YOUR IMPERIAL MAJESTY!"
