Hundreds gathered outside the citadel. Most of it had collapsed in the fires that now burned whatever remained of the impoverished city. Flakes of yellow and orange reigned the sky as a white dust descended upon the bodies below. Mourners and the dead. There were so many dead, scattered across a vast plane of rubble. The Moths had come through on their judgment, and the once great Monarch kingdom had fallen. The sickness had been contained, but at a cost far greater.
The Monarchs had been a quiet, blessed people with wealth and prosperity spreading wide beyond its borders. Then came the sudden wave of calamity that left in its wake a kingdom torn up by a disease that crippled their wings and ultimately, their ability to fly. Their allies were getting antsy; it had to be stopped before it got out of hand. The Monarchs, under their leader, the Grand Apparatus Maximus, sought a better way. They trusted that in time, a solution would present itself… but the Moths could wait no more. So, against the accord, it was decided. The Moths were going to decimate an entire dynasty to purge them of their problem.
And they did.
After it was over, a new society emerged under the Moths. One that closed itself off to all other winged creatures to prevent the events of the past from recurring. There were constant reminders everywhere that outsiders were not welcome. To the few survivors who'd managed to escape, this was not a drill. None of them would ever feel completely safe again.