The fires of battle had long burned to ashes, and all that was left was curling fingers of smoke and the reek of burned memory. Kyrra, scarred, still stood. But it was not the same city. As its stones had shifted, so had its people.
Kael woke to birdsong.
It surprised him.
For so long, his mornings had begun in alarm, with the scream of oncoming disaster. But this morning the quiet was not menacing—it was sacred. He pulled himself up slowly, the aches in his body telling him that triumph had not come without cost.
Elira was already awake, kneeling by the balcony, her eyes fixed on the mountains to the north. Her sword lay beside her, clean and shining.
"They've gone," she said without turning.
Kael joined her. "For now."
"They won't come back the same way. Next time, it'll be subtler. Ideas, not armies."
He nodded. "We'll be ready."
---
Mending What Remains
