Too late.
Ny'ka got there too late.
The battle had happened. Belladonna and Xida, among others, had been captive.
They had been dealt another defeat, one that was too close to the previous one.
They had been ambushed, but for Ny’ka, that wasn't the most painful thing. What hurt the most was her father’s corpse, which was placed at her feet.
She fell to her knees and wept; she grieved. Then her grief turned to rage and she sought for something or someone to be dealt the violence of her rage.
“Everyone that believes in you dies.”
The midnight wind felt harsh and the beings that stood before her seemed like what they were: her enemies.
“Ny'ka,” the Priest called her sharply. “Come with me to bury him to grant his soul safe—”