The sunrise came late that morning, as if the world itself hesitated to open its eyes.
Aria stood at the edge of the ruined stronghold, her eyes sweeping across the battlefield turned graveyard. Fires still smoldered in the cracks of fallen stone, and the scent of blood and magic lingered like a stubborn fog. The cost of victory weighed heavy.
She wasn't wearing her armor. Just a dark tunic and worn boots, the kind of simplicity she hadn't known since her days as a servant in Ronan's pack. The bloodline within her throbbed in the background, a constant reminder that she was more than a girl who had survived, she was the one fate had decided to test.
Kael approached, his own armor dented and dusted with ash. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. They stood together in silence, two warriors forged in fire, watching the sun rise over the ruins of what was once tyranny.
