The air of the underworld was quiet once more Or as quiet as a realm without day or night could ever be.
The seven-colored light that had once radiated from Andromalius had long since faded, leaving only scattered crystal fragments that glimmered faintly across the darkened ground.
The air was thick and strangely sweet, laced with lingering traces of magic dust that drifted through the air like glowing mist.
Sylvia slowly lowered herself to the blackened earth. A soft crack echoed as small shards of crystal broke beneath her weight. Her eyes stared blankly ahead toward the distant ruins of a palace now reduced to broken silhouettes.
"…It's over."
The words slipped from her lips almost without breath.
The battle had lasted less than two hours, yet her body felt as though it had borne the weight of days. Not from wounds hardly a single strike had pierced her Death Aura but from the crushing pressure of the battlefield itself.
