Time — the not too distant future — Post Apocalypse.
Place — a world not unlike our own.
The tale I tell is one of woe: a war that has lasted for centuries; a war where the casualties numbered in the billions, if not more; a war that could have been avoided.
God knows we tried.
How many peace initiatives went unanswered? How many times did we stay our hand, refusing to attack or seek vengeance for unjust acts? But they wouldn’t let us live in peace. They wouldn’t let us sit idly by. A vicious race they were. Warriors to the core. A bloodthirsty, greedy race.
‘How did it start, Grandfather?’
Ox might have shed tears if he had any. But the wars had taken so much of him: a wife, two daughters, all of his friends. ‘They were a relentless enemy, child. An unremitting and unforgiving foe.’
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