The rush of the battle that surrounded Feli was both exhilarating and something to fear. It was symbolic of everything he had lost in the space of time since Sacri had ascended the throne. The peace his parents had so fiercely fought for, had so carefully nourished, had been shattered into pieces, the raging armies slamming the broken bits deeper into the ground.

Feli slashed and swung with his scimitar, his silver Streaks coiled loosely around him like a shield. He could sense Cyren behind him, sending concentrated strikes of his fire Streaks flying at the opposing soldiers. And in the middle of the battle, surrounded by rage and manic power, was Sacri, his blade dripping with the blood of his own subjects.

Feli ducked, feeling the air move across his face as a blade tore through the space where his head had been only moments before. He whirled as soon as the blade was past, leaving a slash across the neck of his attacker. Leaping nimbly over the collapsing body, he brought down an overhead strike on the helmet of another soldier, the flat of his blade ringing against the metal protective gear.

The battle raged on as Feli gave himself whole-heartedly to the fight against his mortal enemies. He had spent the past year slowly gathering support for his campaign against the throne. It hadn't surprised him how many people wanted Sacri gone.

What had surprised him was the fact that they were willing to give their lives to possibly bring that day closer.

Perhaps the Elves recognized the next dictatorial rule in Sacri. Perhaps they dreaded his power from the sun. Or perhaps they merely were scandalized by his practice and association with the Black Elves. Whatever the reason, whatever their hate, they had turned to Feli. They wanted to see Sacri overthrown, and they looked to the one person they believed could do it.

Feli would not let them down.

Cyren had proven his loyalty, again and again, in Feli's service, using his magic to save the prince's life or to shield them from Sacri's general Ocutus. Even now, he was fighting against the Black Elves who stood loyal to Sacri and those of the royal guard who were forced to remain in service under their king, his magic and sword focused on thinning the warriors of Sacri.

The hours slipped away as Feli pressed forward, his scimitar and magic moving in the symbiotic relationship he had spent years culturing. Elf after Elf fell beneath the deadly combination, and he witnessed many of his own soldiers fall to the weapons of their opponents.

But the bloody battle was slowly turning in favor of the Light Elves, and the Black Elves began to give ground. Their eagerness to dominate on the battlefield had wavered on facing the determination of Feli and his army. The Light Elves were desperate to win their country back, and that desperation lent them tremendous amounts of courage in battle and the strength to overpower their enemies.

Back up the slope the Black Elves retreated, their steps slow but steady. Feli shouted out encouragement to his soldiers in between well-needed breaths as he slammed into the Black Elf line, again and again, his scimitar and his magic working together as both a weapon and a shield. Sacri was struggling to hold his ground, but the Light Elves kept pushing their opponents back. Not even Sacri's rage could prevent his soldiers from losing ground.

Elation filled Feli, fighting with the sorrow that had only become an emotion of his in the past year. After the murder of his parents, he had been eager to see his brother torn down, destroyed. But now, he fully realized the divide his brother had brought to the country, the carefully constructed peace that now lay in ashes at their feet.

And as Ocutus began to order a retreat and the Black Elves turned in rows to leave, Sacri centered his sword hilt in the middle of his abdomen, hatred flooding his eyes as his general yelled for him to follow. Feli and Cyren advanced, his own soldiers fanning out around them, scimitars down and angled to the side.

"I will kill you," Sacri promised.

"No," Feli said, feeling the same reluctance he had once accused his parents of having towards taking action against his brother accumulate inside him. Now he understood why they hadn't spoken out when they had the chance, now he understood their hesitance to address Sacri's wrongdoing. The fragile peace that both Sacri and Feli represented with their gold and silver eyes, each standing for a different caste, had been dependent on their reluctance. Now, with the Black Elves having murdered the king and queen and with Sacri's continued blatant association with them, the Solar and the Lunar couldn't – wouldn't – willingly stand behind their new king. Any allegiance felt towards him from those who felt obligated, such as Cyren, had withered and faded away. In a strange way, the peace had been preserved. The people could be united after Sacri was dethroned. "You won't."

Ocutus reached Sacri's side as Feli and Cyren advanced, swinging their blades up before them. Sacri's eyes flicked from one to the other, waiting shrewdly for the first strike. Feli felt the anticipation building in the soldiers waiting behind him, felt his own eagerness climbing, but the restraint shown by his parents stayed his hand, not by much, but enough. And Ocutus chose that moment to grab the king's arm and summon his Streaks, surrounding the two of them with his magic and disappearing from the battlefield.

Feli felt the restraint leave him as Cyren dropped his blade back down to his side. As the prince strode up the slope and looked to where the Elves had been retreating, he saw nothing but open, empty space.

The Black Elf army was gone.

But the war was just beginning.