The Earth Core Green Flame had not yet extinguished.
Yet instead of heat, a warm, gentle breeze spread outward from the scorched ground–soft, steady, carrying the faint scent of grass and ash together. It passed through the surviving candidates like an embrace, easing tension from stiff shoulders and shallow breaths.
The grasslands exhaled.
Azriel still held his daughter.
Tightly–too tightly at first–his arms locked as if the world might tear her away the moment he loosened his grip. Tears slid down his face without restraint, soaking into her hair, his shoulders trembling in quiet aftershocks.
The posture of a Chief–unyielding, feared, absolute–melted within that embrace.
No one interrupted.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the strain eased. Furrowed brows relaxed. Tightened hands loosened. Breaths deepened. The moment stretched, unguarded and fragile, allowed to exist without urgency.
A soft hand rested against Aizrel's shoulder from behind.
She didn't turn immediately.
