The aftermath of the battle felt like waking up from a nightmare only to realize the house was still on fire.
Lucian, despite his victory, was in bad shape. Blood soaked the side of his uniform, and several deep cuts hadn't stopped bleeding.
Two medics rushed to him the moment he returned to the gate, pale and wide-eyed, as if seeing a fallen god. He didn't say a word, just handed over his sword and allowed himself to be half-dragged into the inner cathedrals—their most sacred and secure healing ground, reserved only for the critically injured and impossibly important. Which, of course, Lucian was both.
Selis watched as the great doors of the cathedral closed behind him with a heavy clang.
The guards outside snapped into position, armor gleaming, expressions unreadable. That was it. No news. No briefing. Just silence and orders.
And those orders came quickly.
