The battlefield did not celebrate.
The fighting had finally ended, the beasts all driven or killed, the colossal dragon finally dead, but not before claiming the lives of many people.
When the fighting finally stopped, there was no cheers, no raised weapons, no cries of victory. Only silence lingered, heavy and suffocating, settling over the scorched land like a funeral shroud that had arrived far too early.
Smoke drifted lazily through the air, stinging the eyes and throat. Ash fell like gray snow, coating armor, hair, and broken weapons alike. The ground was scarred beyond recognition, torn apart by claws, magic, and desperation.
Luke stood where the battle had ended, his body barely holding itself due to exhaustion.
He could not remember when he had stopped moving.
His sword was still in his hand, stained dark with blood and ichor, yet his grip felt distant, as though his body no longer belonged to him, his mind still trying to process all that had taken place.
Around him, knights slumped against shattered shields, some sitting in silence, others groaning softly as healers moved among them, some holding the bodies of fallen comrades that would never draw breath again.
No one spoke louder than necessary, no one wanted to.
It felt wrong to raise one's voice here.
Luke's ears rang, the echoes of the dragon's roar and Rose's scream blending into a dull hum inside his head. He kept replaying the moment over and over again. The fire. The poison. Her charging forward without hesitation. His own hesitation
And the way she fell.
"Take care of Nadia for me."
Nadia. The two year old daughter of Rose, who was waiting of her mother to come home as usual.
The words surfaced again, sharp and merciless.
Luke swallowed hard, panted and forced himself to move.
He stepped carefully, slowly across the battlefield, boots crunching softly against debris and ash.
A healer brushed past him, shaking their head at a wounded knight whose breathing had already stopped.
Nearby, another soldier sat staring at his hands, whispering a prayer over and over under his breath as he held the hand of another lifeless knight who was being looked at by the healers.
Luke searched the ground.
He did not know what he was looking for.
None of his teammates would be on the ground, right?
Maybe a sign that it had not really happened.
Maybe her voice.
A healer rushed by him, hurrying to attend to another wounded soldier when Luke subconsciously grabbed his sleeve and called him.
"Have you seen Rose Samir?" He asked the healer quietly.
The healer paused, eyes flicking up to Luke's face.
"Does he know, or is he still denying it in his mind?"
For a moment, there was hesitation.
Then a slow shake of the head.
Luke nodded once, as if that answer was expected, and moved on, his face unreadable.
Ahead of him, Luina Page stood alone.
Her armor was scorched, her cape torn at the edges, strands of hair clinging to her face with sweat and soot. She did not appear injured, yet she looked more worn than Luke had ever seen her.
She was staring at a single spot on the ground.
Luke followed her gaze and walked towards it.
Burned earth marked where Rose had fallen.
A healer knelt there now, gently gathering what remained, covering the body with a clean cloth.
The motion was slow and careful, reverent in a way that made Luke's chest tighten painfully.
"She's gone Luke, she's dead." Luina said quietly.
The words were simple. Final.
Luke felt something inside him give way, this was the reality he had subconsciously tried to reject but hearing the hard cold confirmation from his master seemed to break every hope or fantasy he had about her surviving.
He turned before anyone could see his face and walked several steps away, his breath coming unevenly. His knees buckled, and he sank down onto the broken ground, bracing himself with one hand.
He stared at the dirt beneath his fingers.
"I was standing right there," he whispered, the first tear slipping through his eye.
The image of Rose screaming at him to move burned behind his eyes. He remembered freezing. Remembered hesitating.
He pressed his fist into the ground until his knuckles ached.
Then the next.
In a few seconds he was already punching the ground continuously, the skin on his knuckles tearing as it made repeated harsh contact with the ground.
"I was right there. God dammit, I was right there and I let Rose die"
A small object lay near his knee.
Rose's staff.
The wood was scorched, cracked near the grip, its once vibrant runes dimmed and fractured. Luke picked it up slowly, as though it might vanish if he moved too fast.
His throat tightened.
He thought of her laughter. Her easy confidence. Her uplifting attitude. The way she teased him when he took things too seriously.
And Nadia.
Luke's breath hitched.
Somewhere far away from this battlefield, a little girl was waiting for a mother who would never come home. A husband was waiting for a wife that would never return.
Behind him, Luina remained standing, her hands clenched at her sides. She did not follow Luke. She did not speak, tears streamed slowly from her eyes.
Her gaze never left the covered form on the ground.
For the first time since he had known her, the Wind Mistress looked uncertain.
Weak.
His master that had trained him for years stood crying, slowly wiping her tears.
The healers finished their work and stepped away, their eyes gleaming.
This death hadn't affected only Luke and Luina, Rose was known by all, both knights and mages alike, if not for anything, her cheerful and kind spirit.
The battlefield fell silent once more.
Luke stared up at the afternoon sun, his mind a complete mess.
He rose slowly and walked back, placing Rose's staff gently beside her before the cloth was drawn fully into place.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at the sky she had fallen from.
For a second he turned and glanced at the huge corpse of the dragon that lay a slight distance from them.
The war was over.
But the cost had only just begun.