Liam stood amidst the wreckage of the battlefield—what was once a vibrant stretch of golden fields and greenery now reduced to smoldering ruin. The air shimmered with residual heat, the ground fractured and scorched black from his last attack. Charred earth spread out before him like a wound in the world itself.
He exhaled softly, running the edge of one dagger beneath his jawline in idle thought, the faint glint of flame still flickering along its edge. His expression remained unmoved—cold, calculating.
"That went perfectly according to plan," he muttered in a detached tone, his voice carrying faintly through the settling smoke. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, scanning the torn horizon as though waiting for something—or someone—to reappear.
