2460 AoH

 Strikes of lightning split the sky and annihilated the earth. Thunder crashed violently. The ground shook as it resounded through the kingdom. The road erupted. Debris scattered away from the explosion with deadly force. Citizens jolted backwards, crashing against the walls of their shops and homes. Their bodies flew through the air like dolls being tossed between children; their limbs flailed before shattering when they landed forcefully on the ground. Blood seeped between the cracks in the stone, its sharp scent scarring the air as a reminder for the days ahead of the destruction that took place.

 The muddied boots of Librona's armored soldiers splashed across the cobbled road as they hurried to join the commotion in the town. Their battle cries were lost amidst the chaos of war thundering around them. Women and children scurried in every direction; their anguished screams and cries echoed and haunted the night. Deep voices barked orders only to be drowned in frantic desperation. Swords were drawn from their sheaths; the shwings of the steel threatened in unison. Their blades reflected the orange glow of a city in ruins. Unarmored citizens took up improvised weapons. Pitchforks, axes, and scythes paraded through the streets, gripped by calloused hands, eagerly joining the kingdom's army in the fight for their home.

 The witch clad in black – making her almost invisible in the night – stood erect in the center of the town. Her golden eyes pierced the darkness as the dust lifted from the explosion. Her pale face was cold and hard, her jaw clenched. Her eyes narrowed in an angry focus as she stood in the wake of her attack. Her dark hair was obscured to the darkness of the stormy night, and stray strands of wet hair dragged across her pale face. The rain dropped like cold daggers, stinging against her skin. Her black dress clung to her small, delicate frame and wrapped around her legs with the wind. She raised her head as she looked over the cowering village and she lifted her arms above her, palms up towards the angry sky. A ball of fire grew from nothing above her, hovering just over her open palms. The flames flickered and danced, anxiously waiting to feed on the ruins of the village. The heat was warm and encouraging against her palms, and the glow of the flames was bright against the hollowness of the dreary night. Her arms trembled as the ball grew rapidly, out of her control, and as a result, it exploded above her. The force threw her backwards, but she landed swiftly on her feet and pushed herself forward once more to continue her attack. She threw her arms in the air once more, thunder rumbling above, and she summoned the fire within her.

 The soldiers hesitated in their pursuit, their frightened eyes fixed on the magic that threatened their lives. The witch took advantage of their hesitation and hurled the fireball at her opponents. Soldiers and citizens scattered in all directions. Those who were too slow found themselves face to face with their death as the fireball exploded against the cobblestone road. The flames clung to the streets and rampaged through the village, feeding off of the wood homes. Bodies lay motionless around the city, burned and scarred and barely recognizable. The scent of charred skin and hair mixed sickeningly in with the metallic scent of blood. Women and children cried out to their husbands, brothers, and sons before scurrying away in desperate attempts to find safety.

 The witch gawked at the sight of the marred and mangled bodies, feeling a twang of guilt in the pit of her stomach, but as the soldiers took up their weapons once more, she sent another fireball loose with a sense of desperate urgency. It exploded when it made contact with the burnt and battered road. Ash and debris flew into the homes and shops; their wooden frames split and shattered. Old, thatched roofs erupted into a hellish inferno. The fire engulfed the buildings within seconds. Screams escaped from the burning homes that no longer offered safety to its residents. Bodies stumbled through the black smoke, coughing and choking and reaching for one another. The witch hesitated, flinching as the screams of those trapped inside rose above the crackling flames and stampeding soldiers. Her wide eyes darted around the burning village until they settled on the kingdom's soldiers.

 The soldiers rushed towards her once more with swords in hand, their battle cries rising above the panicked city. The witch's frantic gaze remained as she feebly threw her arms out before her in an attempt to summon another spell to throw at her attackers. Her face creased with fear when no magic burst forth from her open palms. Her eyes darted between the charging soldiers as she realized she had grown too weak to continue the fight. The magic she had grown accustomed to, flowing warmly through her body, was thin and cold. She was empty. She closed her eyes.

 A flash of light struck the town, temporarily blinding those within its walls. The soldiers shielded their eyes with their arms until the light subsided. When the world dimmed, they peeked between their arms to see that the witch with fire had vanished.

 Despite the disappearance of their enemy, the witch's threat loomed above the panicked village. The soldiers turned to the crumbling town. Defeated, they returned their swords to their sheaths.

 “It will be back,” the army's commander reminded his men. “We must remain on guard for when it returns and protect these people.”

 The soldiers nodded and murmured to one another. They hurried to the bodies of their comrades, checking for the pulses of any survivors. They comforted the citizens, aiding them in their search for lost loved ones, and taking away the bodies of those who had been subjected to the witch's power. The townspeople huddled together, their heads bowed as they consoled one another.

 The rain continued to fall as the citizens mourned their friends, their hair plastered to their wet faces. Soldiers came together, mounting their horses to report to their king, while others stayed behind, protecting what remained of the little town. The soldiers urged their horses forward, their hooves splashing in the puddles along the cobblestone road as they headed out of the city and to the castle. The soldiers in the city kept solemn watch through the night, praying that the witch would not return.