After the Battle
The enclave was littered with wounded—but alive.
Artemis stood amid the clearing, breathing hard, claws pulsing with faint ember-light. She looked to the battlefield: scorched earth, fallen foes, and allies tending each other.
Elara handed her a flask of water. "You gave everything."
Artemis shook her head. "You gave more."
Elara leaned close. "And I'll keep doing it."
They stood in mutual silence—a strong anchor in the storm.
Nova moved in, scanning the field. Her rigidity softened. "We may not all agree… but we survived."
Lyra winced as she rejoined them. "We did. And we hold—but for how long?"
Artemis looked up at the starless sky. "As long as we must. We still control the Beacon. And we still stand together."
But beneath the surface, something stirred. A flicker from Artemis's wrist—an echo of a waking energy.
The Rift was not done.