The night settled over the chaos like a heavy quilt, muffling the echoes of the comedic disaster that had unfolded hours earlier.
The once-roaring feast site now lay quiet, its scorched earth cooling under a star-dusted sky. Fifteen minutes after the stewards' hasty retreat, they slunk back, their faces flushed with embarrassment but their eyes glinting with a strange pride.
Gone were the singed, tattered robes; they now wore crisp, clean ones, as if trying to erase the memory of their earlier sprint from the serpent-slaying fiasco.
Riven stood at the edge of the clearing, his silhouette sharp against the fading glow of the fire pits.
He greeted them with a curt nod, his gaze flicking to the heap of serpent remains piled near the back, glistening like a grotesque trophy under the moonlight.
"Pack up whatever's left. Cleanly. Put it in cold-seal containers. We'll be taking it back with us."
