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The sun descended, its golden rays stretched long and weary over the once-mighty walls of Naples. What had once been a symbol of security and power now stood as a last bastion, a final refuge for those trapped within its protective embrace. The very stones that had witnessed countless victories and celebrations now bore the weight of desperation and impending doom.
The Angevin troops, once the embodiment of valor and discipline, now trudged forward like beggars. Their uniforms, once pristine and proudly adorned, were tattered and dirtied, stained with the mud of their arduous journey. Many among them bore the visible scars of battle, their limbs wrapped in bandages, their faces etched with pain and exhaustion. The defeat at Benevento had left them reeling, and the wounds, both physical and emotional, had yet to heal.
