The torches' last embers faded, and the chamber door ground shut with a heavy thud.
For several long minutes, Aria and Laxin lay sprawled among the wreckage of bones and dented armor, too drained to even move.
Finally, Laxin groaned and flopped an arm over his face. "I don't know what hurts more—my body, my pride, or the fact that our deadliest weapon tonight was a loose skull on the floor."
Aria turned her head toward him, her cheek pressed against cold stone. "…We still won."
"Yeah," Laxin said, his voice muffled under his arm. "But can you imagine telling anyone how? 'Oh yes, our great triumph—Sir Slips-a-Lot and his domino squad.' We'd be legends. Ridiculed legends."
Aria let out a laugh that came out more like a cough. "Better ridiculous legends than dead failures."
He peeked one bloodshot eye at her. "…You're too optimistic. It's unnerving."
"You're just too negative," she shot back, though the words lacked real bite.
