The only part of the city that is known.
The slums and cranky parts just outside.
Where the poor and the broken hides.
The glances of high towers and shining domes, far away.
After these outer walls,
Sleek with blood, from so long a battle.
The old soldier has seen the core of the stronghold. Never more than a glimpse, always too weary to secure positions.
We pray for conquest.
We hope for victory.
But the war might continue,
Violently crashing against carved stone.
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