John and the Dhuman soldiers finally reached the human kingdom.
As they entered the outer villages, the destruction was immediate and undeniable. Homes were shattered, streets littered with debris, and an eerie silence hung over the land. Only the whispers of nervous villagers broke it.
One local man hurried toward them, eyes wide with fear.
"The alliance armies attacked again," he said, voice trembling. "Five kingdoms joined the assault. Nearly half of our people are gone."
John felt a chill crawl down his spine.
"Fifty percent?" one soldier repeated quietly.
The Dhuman team listened as more villagers spoke, describing repeated assaults by elves, dwarves, orcs, and beastfolk. The humans were barely holding their ground.
After gathering information, the soldiers convened.
"We should speak with the king," their leader decided.
They moved toward the capital.
When they reached the royal castle, the damage was clear. Outer walls were cracked, towers partially collapsed, and large sections of the fortress had been destroyed in earlier battles. Ash and smoke drifted across the grounds, the scent of charred wood and iron filling the air.
John stared at the ruined fortress, stomach twisting.
"So this is what the war did," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
Despite the destruction, guards remained at the gates, weary but resolute, protecting what remained of the royal family.
The Dhuman soldiers approached the entrance, their steps measured and careful. Every movement was observed by wary eyes, human and non-human alike.
John's mind raced. Could they simply observe? Or would their presence force them to make choices that could change this timeline forever?
They had come to meet the king of the human kingdom—and decide what role, if any, they would play in the war.