Sand. As far as the eye could see. Sand and scorching heat. Fathom d’Sol stood, looking out at the barren wasteland as a Rakosian soldier cut off his rope bindings. This was his fate now, the sand. The constant drumming and screeching of the harsh desert winds against one’s face.

Light. It was what gave the world life, meaning, purpose. As captain Emmerick Lisan stood upon the massive towering stone battlements of the Great Citadel, his world felt like a cloth covering a lamp, smothering the light that attempted furiously to escape, in vain. The captain simply stood, his mind numb as he watched the futile bloodshed below.