The fire had eaten everything.
When dawn crawled fully over the battlefield, the land did not look like land anymore. The clearing was a wound, charred black, split open by cracks that vented thin threads of smoke as if the earth itself still smoldered. Ash drifted in the wind in thick, choking waves, clinging to skin, to lashes, to breath.
And in the center of it, Aria.
She sat in the ruins as though she had been planted there, knees drawn close, Kael's limp body propped against her chest. Her arms curled around him with a desperation that should have looked tender, but the faint glow still threading her veins made it feel more like a shackle.
He was breathing. Barely. Each inhale a crackle, each exhale a wound. The burns along his ribs rose and fell shallowly, his skin stained with soot and dried blood. Every time his chest stuttered, Aria flinched, tightening her hold as though the sheer force of her embrace might tether him to life.
