(part one can be read here)
The erratic monsoon swept the continent again. Even so, as rains pound the backs of a weary militia, warriors trod through flood waters to be kings of a territory not their own. It would have been admirable during the days of the war games but this was now real. And for what? LOVE they said. For those in the trenches, running through fires, continental shifts and now the erratic patterns of the monsoon, LOVE seemed too pale a reason to be at war but the pride of The Four demanded the destruction of all that lay around even if they annihilated each other, hollowing out the land they inhabited. Soul remembered when they all sat by the same table and slept under the same stars when they visited each other. She remembered these things when mortar shells exploded in the faintest part of her ears.
And it was all Spirit’s fault. He with his righteous banner and loud voice. He called them all wrong. To see Spirit… he honestly thought this was the fifth or seventh century; what with his breastplate and his self imposed indignation over every thing. It is his zeal to conquer the lands in the name of his father that shuts him away from his brothers. Yet for his bravado, he was still a child of sorts, accepting cookies from Soul who knew him past his philosophy… or his faith.
Prt 03: The Blame Game Continues...