Sangria. Light spilled through the crags of the mountains in the distance, cool and fresh with the new morning air. Sangria. The dawn of a new day, a new era, a new alliance. Sangria… Yet even the mighty rays of victory and the sun struggled to pierce the scorched smoke and heavy despair in the valley below. “Sangria?”
She turned her head just slightly to acknowledge the boy - no, the man - who now stood by her side, never taking her grey eyes off of the ruin in the fledgling valley just east of the hill that the pair stood upon. A single cherry tree graced the hilltop, Sangria’s ebon war stallion grazing peacefully below its branches. Soft sunlight glittered and danced across his dew laced barding, barely tarnished by the late battle that had ensued the night before.
“Tyrian.”
He shifted his crested sable helm under his right arm, as he nodded solemnly to her and joined her in silence, looking down at the ruin below. The scent of charred wood and flesh tainted the clean morning air, and Sangria finally averted her gaze, studying Tyrian’s smooth, young profile. A wistful smile played across her lips as she thought of her own battle scarred body, unbeknownst to the public eye.
“You’re going to miss it,” she stated bluntly.
He nodded, warm brown eyes fixated on the wreckage below. “I know I will.” After a stretch of silence he finally turned to meet her gaze.
She knew what he had lost; Her own civilization had seen rises and falls of this degree for ages before; alliances with countries mightier and weaker than both his and the one that lay destroyed before them made for a colorful history of her ancient society. Her heart ached for his country’s loss… and also for Cyan’s.
“I know she’ll rebuild it eventually,” Tyrian continued, following her line of thought seamlessly before again falling silent. Sangria hid her smile at his similarities to her, lest it be misinterpreted. His and Cyan’s young societies had been intertwined since the dawn of their peoples’ time, so different yet living in relative harmony. She knew it was going to be difficult for their peoples to adapt to the new situation that they had been ushered into.
Sangria lowered her gaze to study the earth between her mud encrusted dragon scale boots, an unfamiliar pang of unavoidable guilt and sorrow coursing through her stomach. She’d invaded their peaceful existence, her sway like poison in the bloodstream of their confederacy. She had always hated destroying alliances. This one in particular was beautiful in its own simplicity. Her heart warred with regret and shame for what she had influenced.
Yet she had seen the potential in Tyrian’s civilization; potential for bigger, better, amazing things. She’d felt the way his and her societies melded so effortlessly and beautifully in beliefs and aspirations. So she’d shown his people that there was more in the world than their quaint existence in their secluded valley. There was more to aspire to than this meager existence.
Their silence stretched onward.
Sangria looked back down at the wreckage, keeping her chin up stiffly. “I’m sorry.” She knew he understood what the apology was for. She just hoped he would be able to forgive her for what she’d done.
“No apologies, Sangria.” Tyrian touched one gauntleted hand to her own in reassurance. She nodded, the knot in her stomach easing a bit, his acceptance of her tactics reinforcing her belief in her own judgment.
“All is fair in love and war, they say, right?” Sangria smiled wistfully and drew her ancient longsword, tarnished by the unfair slaughter the night before, before driving it deep into the earth before them.
A smile flickered across Tyrian’s lips. “Right.” He thrust his own steel blade, already wiped free of the grime of battle, down into the dirt beside hers. Together, they turned to the rising sun, intent on seeing what the new day would bring.
