The Prophecy Of Wolves.

As they fought on the field, the female masterfully wielded her sword, her cold eyes and fierce face a stark contrast to her elegant movements. With a final, decisive blow, she cut through him, his heart bleeding out, his life slipping away. Cruelly, she withdrew her sword, the man's voice icy as he whispered, "You will regret it." The man said, hearing him, the woman icily said. "Let yourself regret..." She paused, The field was silent, deathly silent, with only the two of them and a few others standing, including a man who was equally skilled in killing. The woman approached him, her eyes locked on his, and whispered, near his ear, "For not making me regret." His body fell down, dead, and she shakily turned around, a small smile playing on her lips. Another man rushed to her, embracing her tightly, his arms wrapping around her like a vice, his lips kissing her forehead, his fingers caressing her cheeks, holding her close. "Are you okay?" he asked, his blue eyes searching hers. "More than I thought," She replied, her gaze drifting up to the sky. The once-lush field was now a battleground, scarred by blood and bodies. Yet, as people approached them, their faces eased into peaceful smiles, as if they had all found their peace. They shared a collective sigh, and then burst into laughter. On that bloody battleground, their laughter was one of pure joy, and they all came together in a group hug, united in their peace.