Ash drifted like snow over what remained of the city. The rain had stopped, replaced by a suffocating stillness that pressed against every surface. The air shimmered faintly with residual energy, fractured pockets of unstable magic crackling along the ruins. In the distance, the crater still glowed faintly, its edges warped into blackened glass.
Lucien stood near its rim, one hand resting against his knee as he caught his breath. His hair clung to his forehead, soaked with sweat and blood. The glow in his weapon had faded, reduced to a dull ember pulsing weakly within the fractured metal.
Across from him, Selene pushed herself upright. Her cloak was gone, burned away during the last exchange. She looked smaller without it, fragile even—but her eyes were sharp, and the faint shimmer of power clung to her like mist.
"Still standing," Lucien muttered, his voice hoarse. "You never know when to quit."
