The battlefield had quieted, but the air remained thick with the echoes of war. Broken weapons lay scattered like fallen leaves, and blood painted the soil in hues of sacrifice. Among the wounded, among the ruins, hope and fear danced hand in hand.
Aria stood at the center of the makeshift encampment they'd set up just beyond Hollow Ridge. Her hair was matted with ash and sweat, her armor stained by the lives lost and taken. But her eyes—gods, her eyes still burned with the fire of a woman who had refused to be broken.Who has won
A medic moved past her, carrying herbs and clean bandages, nodding respectfully. All around her, warriors were recovering, patching wounds, whispering about the night Ronan fell. There was relief in their voices. Joy, even.
Kael approached her slowly, the weight of leadership evident in the slump of his shoulders. "We should hold a ceremony," he said. "For those we lost. And to honor this victory."
