The battlefield was still smoldering.
Charred soil stretched across the Dead Expanse like a scar on the world's skin, filled with silence and ash. Smoke rose in thin spirals from cracked earth, and the bitter scent of burnt magic clung to the air like a curse. The Void Gate, once a monolith of darkness, now lay in ruin—a fractured arch crumbling inwards, half-swallowed by the earth it once defied.
Aria stood at the center, the Flameborn crown flickering weakly in her hand.
She didn't move. Didn't speak.
Her golden flame dimmed to a quiet ember, her eyes distant as though seeing far beyond the battlefield.
"Aria," Marcus said softly, his hand brushing her shoulder. "It's over."
But she didn't answer.
Because she wasn't sure it was.
