Snow crunched and shifted under Aurinel's boots as he stumbled forward. Icy wind lashed at his downturned face, but he didn't feel it. It was just cold passing through cold. His legs gave out under him abruptly, and he slipped down onto the blanket of snow beneath him. Two soldiers hauled him to his feet and continued to drag him through the icy field. When they lifted him, the snow under him was stained bright red. Aurinel Celghana was dying.

Death surrounded him on all sides. Even as he bled out from the wound in his side, he was being dragged to his doom. Bodies littered the battlefield around him, painting the white snow red. Most wore his family's colors. Still more people were dying in the city just South of them. The wind howled as if in mourning, and the very trees seemed to want to escape, leafless boughs snaking up toward the blizzarding sky.

On the other side of the field, a man stood waiting for Aurinel. General Raktorda. Aurinel could barely summon the strength to gaze around him, let alone focus on the figure they approached. His thoughts didn't seem to connect right, turning around in cycles. Dead. Everyone was dead. He was going to die. No, he was already dead. The minutes since the attack had started became one long, feverish moment, disconnected from all the moments before it. The moment was eternal. He was already dead.

They reached the General, and Aurinel was dropped back onto the snow. He felt hollow, like he could melt into the whiteness beneath him. He strained to look up. He could feel his body giving out. This was the part where he was supposed to overpower it and fight. He was supposed to die gloriously, and earn his afterlife. He remembered what he had been told about death. It was supposed to involve greatness, for people like him. This felt quieter.

"Aurinel Celghana." The general towered above him, imposing in his dark, bloodstained armor. He was broad shouldered and tall, with a face scarred from battle. Aurinel had seen the General before, bowing or standing at attention. He seemed like a different man now. It seemed like a different world, as a whole. The natural order of things had died, and Aurinel would go with it.

The General looked him in the eyes. Aurinel's vision began to swim. "I would have prefered to kill your mother," he said in a low voice. "But I'm afraid someone else had the pleasure of doing that." He stepped forward.

"That makes you King." Aurinel had suspected as much, when he hadn't been killed immediately. He would rather not have known for certain. His father could still be alive, though it was unlikely. Maybe Fahrael. Someone had to live. He needed them to.

"Witness this," Raktorda said to the soldiers around him. "The last of the Celghana." He drew a blade, cold steel gleaming in the dimmed sunlight. "And the end of Celya."

Aurinel closed his eyes, waiting for it to be over. Anticipating death. He was too tired to fight, too tired to feel. It would be over soon. It would be fast.

"Look at me." The words cut through his stupor. "I want to see your eyes when I kill you." It didn't matter, now. Aurinel raised his eyes slowly, meeting the general's. Nothing felt real. It was like floating through a nightmare. Suddenly, a flash of color behind Raktorda caught Aurinel's eye. Were those horses?

Aurinel began to make out figures clad in Celyan colors. Knights. Was this what people saw as they died? But no, the soldiers began to notice them too. They were riding straight toward them. Aurinel's vision began to darken as he struggled to inspect the figures of the riders on the horses. Soldiers began to shift into a defensive formation around him. He felt himself losing consciousness. Just as he slipped into darkness, he saw her riding at the front of the knights. Fahrael.