The sun shone above the Arsenal camp once more. For the first time in days, there were no distant roars, no monstrous shadows looming across the horizon. Silence reigned—not because the apocalypse had slowed, but because the army had swept through the surrounding lands, eradicating everything within miles of the camp.
For the survivors, it was reason enough to celebrate.
Music and laughter spilled through the streets of the camp. Soldiers, hunters, and civilians alike gathered to feast and drink, their faces flushed with the warmth of temporary peace. Children danced around the fires, while veterans boasted of kills, their stories growing wilder with each mug of... ale?
In one particular wide hall, Collins and Gracia stood in the middle, sparring.
Gracia was fast, she wasn't used to using swords or anything like it, her main weapons and skills were being a sharp shooter.
Collins didn't use a sword and was enjoying toying with her.
