Three weeks had passed since the brutal execution of Thalys, and the city of Confluendi was a shadow of what it once was. The new garrison commander, a certain Captain Gairos, had been reluctantly thrust into leadership after Thalys' downfall. He stood atop the battlements, his mind heavy with frustration as he surveyed the demoralized remnants of his men. The sight of Thalys being quartered alive had shattered whatever semblance of courage the defenders once had, making them look more like dead men than alive.
That fool, Gairos thought to himself, his jaw clenched. If he was going to risk such an idiotic move, he could have at least made sure to kill him, instead I am made to clean after his mess.
Now, Gairos was left to pick up the pieces of a broken garrison, barely holding the wall with soldiers whose minds were plagued with fear.
He realised there was nothing to clean.
