Tarsuria, Year of Severus, 15, I.R., the 85th day of Fall, Arenfall
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The sun set over the horizon and painted the sky with its crimson streaks. The tent was back to its somber atmosphere. The senators had already cooped up inside their tents just outside the Arenfall mines. Lord Prestonheim stared into the horizon, contemplating on the events that happened a month's past.
The ores, the politics and the struggles that he had to endure could've been all avoided if he chose not to help his poor godson. But what can he do? It was too late to back out at this point. Prince Arterius had already gone this far for him to abandon him.
If anything, he should be the one to have advised his godson off this mess, but the tenacious prince would've quickly dismissed him and his comments. He knew that the only thing he could do to help him was to support him.
