The northern forest of Ironvale fell silent once more after Noir's roar subsided. The death mist that had earlier enveloped the small clearing slowly thinned, leaving behind a piercing cold air scented with wet earth and falling leaves. The thirty hunters or what remained of them now sat or lay sprawled on the mossy ground, breaths ragged, eyes filled with unconcealed terror. They were no longer a threat; merely a broken group of humans who had lost all confidence after "playing" with the undead dragon they had assumed would be easy to capture. Dominion Lock had vanished, its dark purple runes fading like smoke swept away by the mountain wind, but Sylvia knew: the night was not yet fully over.
