The first rays of morning crept across the battlefield like hesitant fingers, brushing over the smoke and ruin left behind. What had once been the proud border of Ravenclaw was now a graveyard of steel and ash. Crows circled above the still bodies, their cries echoing faintly against the cold air.
Evelyn stood amid the wreckage, her cloak torn and her hands blackened with soot. Every movement hurt, but she would not rest. Not yet. Around her, healers tended to the wounded, wrapping bloodied limbs and whispering prayers to the Moon Goddess. The scent of burnt flesh and earth clung to everything.
She looked toward the hill where Damien lay beneath a canopy of white cloths. The healers had done all they could, but his skin remained pale, his breaths shallow. He had fought beside his pack until his body failed him completely. And now, as the fires dimmed, Evelyn could not shake the fear that the man she loved might never open his eyes again.
