The air still reeked of smoke and scorched stone when Aria opened her eyes. Dawn had not yet broken, but the world was painted red by the aftermath of fire. She blinked hard, her throat raw, her body aching as if every muscle had been carved out and stitched back again. The battlefield lay silent—eerily so—after the chaos of the night.
For a moment, she thought she was alone. The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, until the faint sound of movement drew her gaze. Dorian was there, bloodied but standing, his arm wrapped tight around his middle where crimson leaked steadily through torn fabric. He was dragging a broken sword along the ground, his eyes fierce even in exhaustion.
"Dorian," she rasped, her voice breaking.
His head snapped toward her instantly. Relief softened his hard edges, and he stumbled to her side, collapsing to his knees. "Aria. Thank the Moon… I thought we'd lost you."
