Many Rise, Many Fall

The morning had begun, but the day had not. The sun remained beneath the horizon as the uncommon silence of the city persisted. If any were awake, they were inside preparing for their day—not that theirs would last much longer.

In an instant, the earth beneath them ripped in two. Despite the dark of early morning, the city lit up as a burst of light beamed from the fissure. Arising from the tear that shone as the sun didn't were the Risen, and as the curtain raised for them, they demolished buildings and slaughtered the citizens.   The Fallen Prince, still only a child, hardly woke up from this. If not for the household butler, he'd have died as the building collapsed, crushed by rubble, and without a second to escape. It was the standard protocol: in a situation in which the entire family's life was in danger, the immediate heir was the priority. As he got dragged out of bed, a group of maids packed clothing into boxes, packing them into a carriage that he got forced into as hastily as his belongings. Containers of fruit and bread went inside as well, and as the disoriented boy finally got a grasp of his surroundings, the carriage was on its way. Aside from a few servants, he was the only passenger.   As the carriage moved at its highest possible speed, the prince was subject to the cruel image of his people being ripped in two by broadsword-wielding monsters. They could not catch up on foot, yet their fierce roars struck fear into the barely-escaped boy, who shrunk behind one of the many wooden boxes and desperately tried to drown out the screams of the dying.   He was alone. He had lost his family. His people.   He had lost his city.   But he swore he would take it back.