The bloody battle had come to an end, and the cannons had fallen silent. A deep emptiness prevailed in the hearts of the living, and their gazes turned toward the frozen, snow-covered river of their home village, now stained red, transformed into the final fate of thousands of fallen. Death was not just a fleeting moment, but a cold and faint current that swallowed every shred of hope.
A cold wind blew, but with it was no longer just the sharpness of winter. It carried a black and gloomy shadow, for they sensed that this defeat was nothing but the prelude to something worse, though they could not fathom just how much worse it would be…