Public Outrage And Grief

Regret gnawed at him, heavy as stone. There had been a time when he could have ended this nightmare. His thoughts drifted back to a battlefield long ago, under a sky ablaze with fire and magic. 

Flashback…

Centuries ago, on a battlefield drenched in blood, the Archmage had faced Malgorth. Meilin had been there, her blade clashing with Malgorth's as she fought with everything she had. But she was no match for him. She fell, injured and bleeding, clutching her side as her life ebbed away. The Archmage had found himself in a rare moment of weakness. Malgorth, though severely injured and within striking distance, had looked up at the Archmage with a wicked grin.

"You think this is the end, old fool?" Malgorth's voice was a guttural growl. "Even in death, I would reel with happiness to see your defeat. My army will come for you… for your precious town. And you will know true despair."