The wind howled through the war-torn forest, whispering ghostly echoes of the battle that had raged just hours before. The once-vibrant canopy now bore the charred remains of trees, and the ground was stained with the blood of rogues and warriors alike. Amidst the destruction, the sun slowly crept over the horizon, its golden rays piercing the smoke-laced sky.
Aria stood at the center of the field, motionless. The battle had ended, but her mind was trapped in the chaos. She could still hear the screams, still feel the tremble of the earth beneath her feet as power clashed with power. Her body ached, bruises bloomed along her ribs, and her knuckles were raw from the fight. But none of it compared to the ache in her chest.
Ronan had fallen.
She had seen it herself. His body collapsing into the firestorm that Kael and the warriors conjured to destroy the rogue reinforcements. There was no scream, no final defiant roar. Just silence and then the inferno consumed him.
