Lucy was alone.
Truly, unbearably alone.
Wind swirled around his broken body, catching him mid-fall as the shattered cliff crumbled beneath him. The air cradled him gently, carrying him down like a grieving mother lowering her child into the grave.
When his boots touched the debris-strewn battlefield—once obsidian, now charred black and slick with ash—Lucy collapsed to his knees.
His breath hitched. His chest convulsed.
"What have I done…" he whispered.
And then he broke.
Tears spilled down his cheeks in helpless torrents, his fingers clawing at the dust as sobs tore free from his throat.
Visions played behind his eyes—flashes of the lives he'd just erased. A young elven boy clutched his sister, the two hugging tightly as the shockwave loomed behind them. Their final moment was not spent fighting, but holding each other.
