Night fell heavy over the valley, wrapping the world in smoke and silence. The battlefield still smoldered, the scent of ash and blood clinging to the wind. Isla walked through the wreckage slowly, her boots crunching against broken steel and the charred remains of banners that once flew with pride.
Around her, men whispered her name like a prayer. Some looked at her with awe, others with fear. She had led them to victory — if this blood-soaked ruin could be called that — but no one could deny the truth. The cost had been unbearable.
Rhea followed behind her, a bandage tied around her shoulder, her expression hard. "You should rest. The medics are overwhelmed, and you've been walking since dawn."
Isla shook her head. Her gaze drifted to the far ridge where Dante's army had retreated hours ago. "He'll be watching us even now," she said softly. "Counting how many we buried, how many can still fight."
Rhea hesitated. "You think he'll strike again soon?"
