As the moon hung high in the sky and the bitter cold seeped into their bones, nearly making them forget their hunger after hours of nonstop marching, none of those torments seemed to exist for those storming the fortress gates.
Carla, watching the mindless charge of the parasitized Initiates, felt torn. Torn between the waste of life and the sight of brothers and sisters from the same homeland fighting each other—both attackers and stationed soldiers proclaiming deep-rooted nationalism and the knowledge that soon, she too would have to join this puppet war, choosing a side that was not hers.
Being in the rear line, she had the "luck" of witnessing the grim spectacle before her turn to attack came, which made her steps heavier and paradoxically, her resolve stronger.
Turning to her right, she saw Margueritte and Thérèse, glowing with enthusiasm at the idea of diving into that pit.
