The moment I arrive at my personal tent. Made by my soldiers for me to utilise and enjoy. I take off my armour and put down my weapons and equipment aside to get some sleep. That is, if I can get some sleep.

  For almost a year. I just can’t sleep, no matter what I do, I can never get the bliss of rest. No matter how many times I toss or turn, groan or complain. Nothing seems to work. The best I can do is sit at the end of my bed and rub my tired eyes.

  Funny, this oddly reminds me of home, well, my original home. Living in Dragon Mine was never easy; the work, the food, and not even the guards made life easy there. But there was routine, a structure that at least makes the day predictable and workable. I put on a smile, remembering the times I have had to fight in the cage against my fellow Dogs to skip work. Those were simpler times, but that is not a life our children should live through.

  I pull out May’s belt buckle from my pocket and rub my thumb along it. Sometimes I remember her laughter, how she finds some sliver of joy and hope. Those moments of her jumping on my back and throwing me off balance is the routine I miss the most. Even if I hated it, the world feels empty without the attitude she will give when being told off. She is just like her mother. A spitting image in both looks and how they behave… and they took them away from me.

  The Cinari took them from me. The creatures took what little joy I had for the world, and they punished me for just existing or because of their inadequacies. They force me to suffer because that is what they do, and because they have the power to do it. I should feel anger, disgust for their kind, for what they have done!

  But in the end, it is just tiresome. The rage I have for them invests every aspect of my life. But it is my fuel, my motivation to keep moving. Yet it can’t last forever. The anger I have towards them can only go on for so long. It hurts to admit it, as I desire nothing more but their death and destruction. Though I suppose that is the nature of this world, nothing lasts forever. All I can do is try to respark my rage whenever I can.

  I turn to my crown helmet, the dry blood on it already staining the metal. The silver chains are already filthy and dull in colour. I suppose I should clean it, remove the blood and grime from it and give it a neat polish. But I suppose I should keep it like that as a reminder of what I am fighting against. Their kind deserves annihilation, but what should I do after all of this? Midrax’s question circles back to me. What should I do when this is all over?

  I’m too old to rule forever; eventually, I’ll need to give up my crown. But should I? I push my way through the bodies of my dead to earn the crown and title. I’ve united the mines of the South and brought peace to my people. Without me, my people will be lost. I am the king they deserve and need for my kind to survive.

  Even as my hands crack every time I form a fist, I have the vigour of a young man to keep going to fight the monsters. It is rare for an old Dog to rule over their people, but I am the exception because I achieved what others failed to do. None can unite the other mines and plantations like I have.

  As the sun rises, an annoyed sigh escapes my lips. In my frustration, I skipped sleep. I put on my armour, but left my crown and weapons behind. The crown of chains can wait for me; the foolish Cinari only wants to talk to me. I will only wear it when we have to fight them, and then will I stain the crown with their blood.

  I head over to Brolda Hill. A deforested plot of land with woodchips and twigs covering every inch of ground. The earth is uprooted and disturbed, the ground muddy and cold to the touch. Trinkles of snow fall onto the ground, clumping onto the wooden waste.

  Midrax waits for me, wearing his armour and resting his hands on two axes attached to his belt. Drool drips down his cheeks while he smiles at me, clearly in excitement for today.

  ‘They were waiting for a while now,’ Midrax points to the hill. I can’t see them; they should be on the other side. ‘They seem to be shit scared of us!’ He laughs to himself.

  I doubt they are scared. They are the ones to reach out for those negotiations; at best, I’ll call them na?ve and foolish.

  But I like to have a good laugh. We both walk to the top of the hill as soon as I notice two figures up there. I notice the messenger, next to him, must be the General of the Cinaris Army. He didn’t wear the armour that the previous General wore last year. Besides wearing glamorous armour, he wears something any typical Cinari scum would wear as protection. I suppose the dull necklace around his neck is the only flashy thing about his attire, but it is just pathetic.

  His hair is short and black in colour and receding while his scalp is sore and bloody. His nose is also broken and crooked to one side. Doesn’t look like he has slept in weeks with those dark patches under his eyes.

  Wait a minute, I know him. He is the Commander from Tundo. I thought the bastard was killed. It seems the little shit got through the webgate and survived.

  This ain't no joke, this isn’t a fool I am dealing with. Even Midrax seems uneasy, his joking and carefree attitude now gone as he looks down at the man who humiliated him at the crossing.

  Volas straightens himself while resting his hands behind his back, his expression radiating a cocky competence. ‘Good to see you again, Marak.’

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  I nod, I don’t dare waste my breath on him.

  ‘I suppose you are also aware of why you are here.’ Volas continues. ‘I need to discuss with you about our terms of war…’

  ‘Why should I care? Your previous General didn’t offer any terms to me before. Why is this any different? From where I stand, you are just wasting my time.’

  ‘Things changed, you are viewed as a respected enemy, and the council of my glorious Empire believes you are capable of negotiation.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ This fool thinks of me as a fool; their kind never cares nor respects my kind. Even when I beat them in the South, them respecting me is a stretch. However, I am curious to see how this pans out. ‘Tell me your terms or run back to your castles.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Volas pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘There are a few terms I want to address. The first term is that you must spare every civilian that you come across and allow them to escape. The second is that after the end of every battle, you cannot pursue the retreating forces, in which case I’ll extend that term to you as well. The third term is prisoners, regardless of what side they are on, they must be fed and looked after. In the fourth term, all messengers will not be harmed, and they must be discerned from a common soldier. For that to be possible, they must have a white armband on…’

  Oh, brother, he doesn’t shut up. He continues on and on, listing and naming over 120 terms. No torture, no unnecessary suffering of soldiers or civilians, it never ends. Reading off every single condition and term written down on a single piece of paper, which I doubt is even possible. If this is their attempt at a joke to waste my time, I will give them props for wasting it, though I wish the joke would actually make me laugh.

  ‘You’re finished?’ I speak out after the 154th term.

  Volas nods, ‘yep. I will also add that within those terms, you and your army are forbidden to use the handheld ballastias. As they are deemed to be cruel and inhumane.’

  ‘Your terms of war, Cinari. Not mine!’ Really? We can’t use our crossbows, but they can use their sky beast and light spears. Behind those soulless eyes, they really think their tools of war are humane and just.

  He puts his paper back in his pocket. ‘Then what are your terms?’

  ‘Simple, none of your terms should stand. They clearly only benefit your kind and army. There is no reason to accept them. This farce is a waste of time, funny, but a waste. You should be ashamed of yourself, for this is a new kind of low.’

  Before I can turn away and leave, Volas speaks out. ‘Then I’ll kill every Dog that is a slave. Any Dog that surrenders will be executed, and I’ll ensure that the South will suffer as well when I send soldiers down there.’

  I chuckle at his bluff, ‘you won’t do that. You need my kind for your Empire to survive.’

  ‘Not necessarily. With my authority I will, and I could kill them all with a simple executive command. The Dogs up North are not as necessary as the ones down South. They are expendable, a liability that can just be removed with a click of my finger.’

  Midrax looks worried; it seems that he bought that idiot’s threat.

  I stand over the bastard, how dare he threaten me and think he can get away with it! ‘Do that and I’ll burn the North to the ground.’

  Besides being intimidated, he takes a step forward. ‘Name your terms. We both have the capabilities to bring untold destruction to each other. Nothing is holding us back, and we will both take joy in each other’s demise. Damn, what the Shaman will think or do. But trust me when I say this, I will love to have the rivers run in Dog blood. So, we can either come up with some sort of agreement to limit that suffering, or I’ll go all out and make your people bleed under my watch.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll name mine. I’ll only agree to the first four terms you stated, and that my people, enslaved by your kind, will not be harmed. Another term I want to add is once I arrive at the mines or plantations. Your people give up without putting up a fight. They will surrender or leave. That is the only option they will have.’

  The two Cinari look at each other before giving each other a nod. ‘I can agree to those terms.’ He reaches his hand to shake mine, to finalise the deal. I don’t shake it. It is a Cinari custom to show respect. Respect, I have none to spare for their kind.

  ‘I’ll see you on the battlefield.’ I say before Midrax and I make our leave. Returning to our army to begin our war, though this time with some conditions. None of which are too drastic, that just means I have to butcher their kind once this is all over. Or at least, do it out of sight.

  ‘Have any of our plans changed?’ Midrax asks me.

  ‘No, we proceed as before. Karl will head west, and you’ll head east. I’ll make my way to their capital. I want to face the bulk of their armies.’