The marrow battlefield stilled.
Where moments ago the requiem had howled, now only fragments of ash drifted like snow, faintly glowing with residue of the Arbiter's broken authority. The silence was no longer suffocating—it was wide, empty, waiting.
Naval leaned on his knees, blood dripping from split knuckles, his breath heavy but steady. "Heh… tell me that's the last one, Leon. Because if there's another… I'll have to punch the marrow itself."
Milim slumped down beside him, smoke rising from her singed skin. She grinned anyway, fangs glinting. "If the marrow itself shows up, I'll eat it. Problem solved."
Roselia's stars flickered gently above her head, no longer trembling, but soft and resolute. She wiped her tears with the back of her wrist, smiling weakly. "We shouldn't have survived that. But we did. Because none of us stood alone."
