The war had been raging for three weeks.
Two kingdoms, neither particularly important in the grand scheme of things, had been convinced that the other had stolen sacred artifacts, insulted ancient ancestors, and generally committed every offense imaginable. The evidence had been planted carefully, the tensions stoked expertly, and the result was exactly what Kahdijah had wanted.
Chaos.
She sat on a hill overlooking the battlefield, legs crossed, expression one of pure contentment. Below, thousands of soldiers clashed in a beautiful mess of fire and steel and desperation. Spells arced across the sky. War cries echoed off the mountains. The ground was already soaked red.
"Beautiful," Kahdijah murmured. "Absolutely beautiful."
Bolt stood a few feet away, his expression pained. He'd been sent to keep an eye on her, to make sure she didn't go too far. It was a job he hated, a job that made him feel like a babysitter for a cosmic toddler with access to infinite destruction.
