The morning after the battle was a quiet one.
Not peaceful—never that—but quiet in the way that came after catastrophe, when the world simply didn't have the strength left to scream.
The sun rose pale through a veil of ash. It touched the broken towers of Delwig, the charred remains of walls that had once withstood sieges and storms.
The fortress city, once a monument to order, now lay open to the world—bleeding and still.
Damien stood at the city's edge, gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the Verdant Verge still smoldered faintly.
His coat fluttered in the cold wind, the edges burnt and torn. Lin stood beside him, tails curled neatly around her paws, silent as the graves surrounding them.
Behind him, Arielle stirred.
Her voice was faint, a rasp barely stronger than a whisper. "You… came back."
Damien turned. She lay propped against a half-collapsed wall, color slowly returning to her face. Her armor was cracked, her shoulder bound hastily with strips of cloth.
