[B]THE PROPHET Surrounded and yet alone, marching for a battle they couldn't win, stands a lone figure, stands the defeated queen. Even if she won the war, she would only say more lies, for she knows she's lost too many soldier lives. How can this war be any good, she thinks as she mourns. This war is all but good, she cries as she mourns. All her subjects, closest soldiers, all she's ever had. Now surrounded by heavy bodies, all she's had is dead. This alliance, she didn't want it, but she didn't want the enemy. If she'd betrayed her, and she did.... not, her soldiers would be alive, but not for long. A prophet appeared in front of her eyes, her golden coat had shone. "Please, do not attack the Ice so your soldiers can roam." The queen just shook her head, widening her stare. "This is where the alliance led, I can't end it here. You have come too late my soldiers are all dead. You have come too late, my kingdom is now dead." The prophet smiled and whispered, "It's not too late yet. This is just a nightmare, the decision can be made." The queen had thought, thought for a few seconds, nodding slightly at those words, her soldiers she'll save. She woke and stared around the camp, her soldiers full of hope. She knew what has happened, the prophet visited them too. She nodded and raised her head, soldiers looking up at her. "No more dead." she said. "No more war for you."
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