The night sky was bruised with storm clouds, the fractured moon hanging above like a pale scar against the darkness. Its broken glow spilled across the battlefield where silence had replaced the roar of clashing steel. Ash drifted in the air, mixing with the copper tang of blood. Aria stood at the center of it all, her chest heaving, her hands trembling though fire still curled at her fingertips.
The triplets flanked her, each bearing wounds, their strength worn thin from battle yet their gazes fierce. Marcus's arm bled freely, the crimson soaking through his torn sleeve, but he remained unbowed, his weapon steady. Tobias's sharp eyes scanned the shadows, every muscle coiled for the next strike. Dorian stood closest to Aria, his presence a wall of calm steel that held her together even as her body threatened to collapse.
But it was not over.
