The battle was over.
The mist dissipated, and the foaming water calmed down. The wraith armada was gone, having vanished like a fleeting apparition. Old Tom had retreated back into the abyssal depths.
The Night Garden had earned several new scars, its living hull slowly repairing itself in the pale starlight. The Awakened soldiers emerged from under the deck, and the Ascended officers who had manned the cannons were catching their breath while leaning on the railings, a cold breeze caressing their pale faces.
Soul Reaper Jet had already returned aboard her ship — somewhat battered, but mostly unscathed. Her armor was in need of some mending, so she dismissed it in favor of a set of comfortable mundane clothes.
