So the battle grounds were untouched. Ironic. What was there to fight for any longer? So many wars had been waged here. So many battles. So much blood shed. But for what? So some nameless god could steal everything that mattered from them? He was brimming with anger. But there was no outlet. He couldn’t very well attack the mountain. And the god living there? He preferred gods that he could interact with; gods that made their pleasure or displeasure apparent. Not this fickle creature that sat on its throne high above them making changes as it pleased. It knew nothing of the need he had for his Valley. How could it.

So he moves himself into the practice areas, his body tense from the trauma of losing his beloved. He needed action, even if it was meaningless. He needed to feel alive, even if he had nothing to live for.