Feli lifted his scimitar, feeling the immense strength of his army through his silver Streaks. The intensity, the power, the eagerness, and yes, even the desperation and fear, were all coalescing behind him as he stood just out of reach of any spells the Black Elves manning the walls could cast.

They were ready for this day, to tear down the barriers enclosing Sanas and claw Sacri off of his wrongly seized throne. They were waiting to risk their lives for their values, their standards, and their freedom today, willing to die to see Sacri defeated beyond all hope of rising. They had been waiting for this day for a long time.

Feli cast a glance at Cyren, whose features bore a conflicted expression composed of resoluteness and regret. That look was familiar on his face, having surfaced often in the course of the war. Cyren wanted the best for his country, but his disloyal actions to the throne he had sworn his life to weighed heavily on his shoulders. Despite the fact that he was treading the best course of action, the half-Elf didn't foresee a favorable outcome from this coming battle.

Sunlight and scorch.

Moonlight and curse.

Fire and starved.

No one will be united.

No one will thrive.

Only one can survive.

Cyren's words from last night echoed in Feli's head. Despite the gravity of Cyren's statement, Feli felt an odd hope at the words. Today, in the glare of the sun, Riko would see the fall of its tyrant, witness the rise of their new monarch.

Today, Riko would remember peace.

Feli directed his gaze to the gates and saw the distant figure of his brother, overlooking his forces. Arms loosely hanging by his sides, hand gripping the out of sight cross-hilted blade he was known to wield, Sacri didn't look worried or afraid. Yet he didn't look eager.

He knew.

He knew.

Feli felt hope rise in him, suddenly, like bile in the back of his throat. This hope couldn't be good, couldn't signify anything good. For the manic rage and intensity Sacri had exhibited in all previous encounters was gone. In its place was acceptance.

Sacri knew something, something Feli might not be aware of. Or perhaps it was something the younger brother already knew. Whatever it was, it spoke neither of victory nor defeat.

The sorrow the two brothers had jealously horded from the other in the wake of their parents' death rose to Feli's mind, and for an instant, he knew Sacri felt the same sorrow. Then the moment was gone, Sacri was a foreigner once more, and Feli felt the raw taste of his undigested dreams for future peace, the acidic flavor making him gag.

Despair for peace in Riko filled Feli, flowing from an unknown source. Sacri continued to stare down at the Light Elves and Feli met his brother's far away gaze. Feli swore to avenge their parents and salvage whatever was left of the order they had brought to Riko. Sacri communicated nothing for a moment; then Feli was aware of the brief, upward twist of his brother's lip.

I can't stop this.

But perhaps I shouldn't try.

I've already become the explosive to wreak havoc here, the abrasive that snaps the string. No – I always was.

I wish you my best, brother. I wish you my best, King Feli.

Sacri vanished from the gates.

And Feli brought his upheld scimitar down in an arcing motion with the hoarse cry of "Charge!"

The gates fell under the combined magic of the Light Elves, repulsing the shields the Black Elves had erected. The walls imploded, stones crumbling to the ground as Feli led the charge into the city of Sanas, Cyren by his side, a sickening despair covering the half-Elf's face like a curtain cloaks a window. He hadn't needed to have that moment of communication with Sacri to know that despite the sunlight, Riko's fate as a peaceful nation was in dire straits.

The sun looked down on the toppling gates of Sanas and the onrush of Light Elves towards the Black Elves, the golden Streaks of Sacri propelling him forward to meet the silver Streaks of his brother, the bright blue sky unable to reflect the ruthless bloodshed about to occur.