Time flowed, its slow and steady current eroding both hope and sorrow in equal measure.
The sky was bright, then dark, then bright again.
Its distant veil was blackened by smoke, then cleansed by the purifying fury of rolling stormclouds.
Inside the destroyed city, only the most stubborn cinders still glowed, hidden deep below the ruins.
Outside the city, a vast encampment of the conquering army rested under the ashen sky, drowned by a suffocating atmosphere of suffering, confusion, and fear.
When there was sun, there was dust. When there was rain, there was mud. The tents were dirty, damp, and battered. The people were covered in grime and soot, their grim eyes slowly turning lifeless.
The soldiers were hungry. Hunger was a nightmare that haunted their waking days, stalking them persistently wherever they went, whatever they did. It sunk its fangs into their flesh, sapping them of strength and tormenting them. It also gnawed on their minds, eroding their willpower.
