The wind sighed through the trees and howled into the empty air. It was a silence so profound it could have been mistaken for a funeral, except that where there should have been the wailing of mourners, there was only a single, sharp laugh.

The sound did not belong to Alpheo this time. He turned his head to find Merelao, the Lord of Epietoli, snickering behind a gloved hand. As Alpheo’s gaze lingered, the chuckle blossomed into graceful, full-throated laughter.

"Apologies, my friend," Merelao said, his words flowing with grace as he regained his composure. "It was just that... I had forgotten how much you loathe a dull performance. That monologue? Exquisite. I haven’t heard such creative butchery promised since you convinced me to stake my sword with yours. You’ve frightened the poor prince so thoroughly I suspect his horse is the only thing currently keeping him upright."

Merelao wiped a mock tear from his eye, his blond hair dancing in the biting wind. "But really, Alpheo, ’boxes’? It has a certain... Merea’s like charm, and was actually quite like you."

The laughter snapped the tension like a dry twig, though the horror remained etched into Sorza’s features. The Crownless Prince ooked as though he had already been nailed to that eastern height. Yet, it was that very laughter that finally brought him back to the ground where his horse stood.

"Y—you," Sorza swallowed hard. "You lie."

I do not like being called a liar, Alpheo reflected. In this instance, he was anything but. "Do I now?"

"You would kill a prince and his whole family? Is there no code sacred to you?" Sorza’s voice gained a desperate strength as he spoke. "You would make an enemy of the entire South. You would kill me and invite thousand-fold enmities against your name!"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Alpheo asked, tilting his head with a predatory curiosity. "Do you truly think I would not dare?"

"There is no precedent for such a slaughter!"

"Some would say precedents are made to be broken," Alpheo countered.

At this, Father Ols began to pray fervently, the Star of the Five swaying above their heads. There were only five gods in their heavens: the All-Knower, the Bringer of Mercy, the Warrior of Wrath, the Sea-God, and the Father Protector of Laws, and yet not one had any sway at the moment.

Alpheo mused that the priest might be more useful swaying that golden cane like a mace.

"And why not?" Alpheo rose taller in his saddle, looking down at the Prince of Oizen. "Do you think I fear the enmity of the other princes? Where have you been these last months? They have already come against me. They are already my enemies. One cannot make more of what already is, can I?"

The stallion beneath the prince snorted into the cold air. "I once believed I could cohabit with you all. This war has proven me wrong. If I cannot make the south love me, or even stomach me, I shall make do with their fear. Perhaps when they realize there are consequences for their actions, real, bloody consequences, they will choose their betrayals more wisely."

Alpheo leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill. "The peace we signed was broken by your hand. The princes of Habadia and Ezvanian moved against me, and the Prince of Shaza betrayed me for mines I had already shared. In the south, you call yourselves princes, but you act like thieves. If all it takes to secure my life is to spill a little blue blood, I’d say that is an acceptable price to pay. Wouldn’t you agree? Why wouldn’t I dare open that box? I have very little left to lose as things stand already."

"The Prince of Habadia will not allow it," Sorza attempted, though the words lacked the conviction of a man who truly expected a savior.

He doesn’t even believe it himself, Alpheo decided, staring into the shallow depth of the younger man’s eyes. He let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to drain the last of the diplomatic patience from his frame. "I am growing tired of wasting words. You already know your own lies, and I have no more time to barter for them.

I will have your answer now, whatever it may be. You hold the survival of your city and the lives of your kin in your hands. This is likely the most important choice you will ever make. So make it."

It was then that Father Ols stopped his rhythmic chanting. The priest surprised them all by actually finding his tongue.

"No!"

The word cracked like a whip in the cold air. Even Merelao looked astonished, his mocking smirk faltering, while the Oizenian mother and son stared as if the priest had suddenly grown a second head.

"This is your choice, is it not?" Ols cried, his voice trembling with a mix of terror and fervor. "All of this is your will! Is there no mercy to be found in you, Prince of Yarzat? There are thousands upon thousands of innocents behind those walls, each with their own life, their own dreams." The five-pointed emblem of the All-Knower, the Weaver, the Warrior, the Sea-God, and the Father Protector swayed in the wind as if nodding in solemn agreement. "Would you truly bathe yourself in the blood of so many innocents? Can your heart not be moved for their sake?"

Alpheo merely stared at him with a numb, glass-eyed indifference. That silence somehow infuriated the holy man further.

"Do you hold no fear of the Gods?" Ols pressed, reaching the end of his rope. "Do you not fear what awaits you in the life that follows this one?"

It was a pertinent question, Alpheo had to admit,one he currently had no answer for. He hadn’t exactly had the leisure to contemplate his soul while wading through the gore of the Ford.

He wondered briefly what they wanted from him. Did they truly think a sermon would halt a moving glacier? Still, before he dealt with the business of the heavens, he had to settle the business of the earth.

"It seems to me your bravery comes in flags, priest," Alpheo said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "I did not see you preaching on my borders when your Prince’s allies made a merry slaughter of my lands. If you’d spare the breath for a walk along the frontier, you’d see village after village laid to waste. You’d see the corpses of my people rotting beneath the branches of their own orchards. Yarzat justice comes quickly to those who deserve it. Does your sense of morality warp based on who is the victim and who is the perpetrator?"

"An evil act does not justify another!" Ols shrieked. "Do you think the Gods will sanctify such meaningless bloodshed?"

I don’t give a rat’s ass about what the Gods sanctify, Alpheo thought. The Gods have sanctioned a sea of blood so vast we could never hope to match its tide. But he kept that thought private. Instead, he looked at the priest with a chilling calm. "You are preaching to the wrong man, Father."

"What could Your Grace possibly mean?"

"It is not me you should be pleading with, but my legions," Alpheo said, gesturing vaguely toward the iron-clad ranks behind him. "You’d think after so much slaughter they’d have had their fill. I was as surprised as you to find that is not the case. It is they who have pushed me to these ends."

"And we are supposed to believe that?" Sorza asked, a sneer of disbelief breaking through his fear.

"You believe what you bloody well like. What I know is that when I made my desire for a parlay known, my men almost revolted.Imagine my surprise at that, just when I expected nothing could find me lacking ever again, this happens.

I was forced to swear to them that if these talks failed, they would finally have their way with your streets."

"Do you take us for fools?" Sorza challenged. "What army would crave such a thing after such a grueling war?"

I usually only take you for a fool, but I might make one of all of you.

"There is a most easy way to verify my words," Alpheo said, his hand sliding slowly toward the hilt of his sword. The blackened steel of his gauntlet creaked as he gripped the leather-wrapped pommel. "If I draw my blade and raise it toward the clouds, it will mean the parlay has failed. Shall we see the reaction of my host? Do you want me to go ahead?"

Sorza stammered, his face turning the color of wet parchment, but Alpheo didn’t wait for a response. He wanted them to hear it.

With a sharp, metallic ring that bit into the silence, Alpheo unsheathed his sword. The blackened steel caught the dull gray light as he thrust the point toward the heavens as if laying claim over it.

The silence lasted only a heartbeat.

As then, from the throat of every man in the Yarzat line, a roar erupted that shook the very foundations of the city walls. Thousands of spears began to beat against shields in a deafening, metallic thunder as the legions let out a singular, terrifying cry that drowned out the wind.

Of Oizen only one thing they wished

"ASH! ASH! ASH!"

’’Now I fear that all you can hope...’’

"ASH! ASH! ASH!"

’’Is that when you make your choice they are going to accept it.War is our time and they believe that most heatedly...’’