Alexander stood by the side of the Ghost Mountains, sword in hand. Not a hint of smile could be detected on his usually happy face. The wind blew his hair behind in unison with his shirt making him look like the god of slaughter. His eyes scanned the thousands of witches who were assembled preparing for war. Had he not caught wind of this, Crescia would have been caught off guard.
His anger boiled within him, his hands clutching the sword tightly. He would not allow them to attack Crescia, not under his watch. And to imagine that they killed Henry so that Arcadia could turn against them was clever of them. No one would have suspected such a thing would be happening behind everyone's back. That only meant one thing, there was a rat in the palace!
He descended from the top and landed in front of the marching troupes. Given the size of the witch army, Crescia could not have stood a chance. Fortunately, the dragon was well sealed in the caves.
