Julius sat on a cold rock, staring blankly at the embers of the campfire that had long since died out. Around him lay the bodies of fallen soldiers, scattered and motionless, but he paid them no mind.
Across the clearing, Duncan was bound tightly to a tree, silver stakes piercing his neck, arms, thighs, and feet, immobilizing him completely.
Despite his inability to move, Duncan continued to scream, his voice dripping with contempt and malice.
"You're just like us, Julius!" he taunted, laughter ringing through the silent dawn. "A murderer! Look at them—those 'innocent' soldiers you killed with your own hands!" Duncan sneered.
"You truly are His Majesty's descendant. Cold-blooded, ruthless!"
As the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, illuminating the silent battlefield, Julius finally lifted his gaze, looking past Duncan toward a lone figure waiting patiently by the tents—a wolf.
