A place once filled with grass and trees,

Now filled with corpses of men in clad of iron and steel,

Broken flags and scattered swords,

The sky was red and the clouds was dark,

Silent and whisper of winds,

A blonde-haired woman, clad in blue cloth and armor in steel,

On top of a hill,

Kneeling on the ground,

Her stomach wounded,

Her forehead bleeding,

With her destined blade stood on ground,

with her hands holding it as support,

She lifted her head,

A trickle of tear flowed down on her cheek,

She whispered as if in prayer,

"I shouldn't have become king."