Smoke coated the world, so thick it blocked out the sun. People darted left-and-right, hiding behind fallen carts and underneath dead bodies in hopes to save themselves. The screams of the wounded and dying resonated across the country.  Stone's fell to the ground, cracking the streets, as the foundations of buildings shattered and crumbled. Debris littered the ground, from wooden beams, to rocks, nails and glass. In the corner of one fallen building rested a young girl's doll - the cloth and string tattered and torn. 

Soldiers kicked through doors, grabbing women and throwing them out into the road. Children were beheaded in front of their parents, babies thrown into the alleyways left to die. Women had their hair scalped and ripped away, and men had their bellies sliced open.

The smell of death and decay rippled through the air. Crimson blood stained and pooled in the streets. In the sky above, dark clouds formed and rain began to pour, as if the sky was mourning the people down below. 

Vaxon strolled through the city, admiring his work. Pride surged inside his chest and he felt joy—pure joy at what he was seeing. 

The city was his. It was the final battle, and he had taken the capital city.

At last, the kingdom was his.

There were those who had rebelled against him, a few brave souls desperate to see their kingdom returned to the glorious land it had once been.Even after the city became his, the rebellion continued, though not as strong as it once was. Vaxon had ensured that all the Mages, Sages and Wizards had been killed.

Except not all of them were dead.

Before the leader of the rebellion, Mathas, had been caught and killed, he had made sure that a small group of children had been spared and kept away, hidden from Vaxon's evil forces.

Thirty-two Magi that were the last hope to save the kingdom, thirty-two left that had the power to defeat Vaxon.