The silence was, somehow, a thousand times louder than the roar had been.
It was an absolute, pressing, heavy silence. The kind that pushes on your eardrums.
Sir Gregor, who had been braced for the all-consuming fire of oblivion, found himself… not dead.
He was cold. The air, which seconds ago had been hot enough to melt stone, was now bitingly cold. He cracked his eyes open.
The shadow was gone.
He blinked, pain shooting through his entire body. He forced his head to turn.
The Drake...
It was still there. For a second. Its massive eye was still fixed on the spot where the man stood. Its jaw was still open.
And then, it... dissolved.
It didn't fall. It didn't explode. It just turned into glittering, crimson particles. A billion motes of red light that drifted upwards, like dust in a sunbeam. In three seconds, the entire mountain-sized beast was just... gone.
Nothing was left. Not a scale, not a claw, not even a single drop of blood. Just... empty air.
Gregor stared. His brain felt like it was full of wet sand. It couldn't process. He looked from the empty space where the apocalypse had been, to the man.
The man was standing there, his back to him, looking up at the disappearing glitter.
Then he let out a sigh.
It wasn't a sigh of relief. Or effort. Or triumph.
It was the same, exact sigh Gregor had heard on the wind just before... the sigh of profound, utter, crushing disappointment.
The man slowly, slowly, sheathed his plain iron sword. The click of the blade settling into the scabbard was the loudest sound Gregor had ever heard.
That little spark of hope in Kaelen's chest? The "maybe this one?"
It was dead. Drowned in the same old, gray, stagnant ocean of boredom.
Of course it broke. They always broke.
He felt his stomach growl. Loudly.
Right. Priorities. The nap was ruined. The afternoon was shot. He might as "well get some food.
Kaelen turned around.
He saw the broken knight, the 'Azure Shield', staring at him. The man's mouth was open, his eyes wide, his expression a perfect, frozen mask of absolute, sanity-shattering shock. A few other survivors, cowering behind a melted wall, were peering out, their faces just as broken.
Kaelen cleared his throat.
Gregor flinched so hard, a fresh wave of pain shot up his spine. He tried to move, to salute, to kneel, to do... something. His body was a wreck.
"S-Sir..." Gregor's voice was a raw croak. "I... We... Sir Gregor... of the 17th... we are... in your debt..."
Kaelen just waved a dismissive hand, already walking past him. "Yeah, yeah. Great. Good job. You... shielded... or whatever."
He stopped a few feet past him, then turned back, his head tilted.
"Hey," he said. His voice was flat. Monotone. Completely dead. "You guys are from around here, right?"
Gregor, forcing himself up onto one elbow, could only nod, his mind a total blank.
"Right. So, I was heading to that village," Kaelen said, pointing with his thumb into the valley. "The one by the river. You know, with the well in the main square?"
Gregor nodded again. What?
"Okay. Good." Kaelen's expression seemed to... focus, just a little. For the first time, there was a tiny sliver of something in his eyes. Concern?
"I'm kind of hungry. And that little noodle cart that usually parks by the well... you know the one? The old man with the red banner? Makes the really spicy broth?"
Kaelen paused. He looked from Gregor to the smoking ruins of the valley, and then back to Gregor.
"Is it... did that big red thing smash it?"