The smell of burnt wood and metal hung over the Blood Moon Rogues' territory like a storm cloud that refused to leave. The air was heavy with smoke, and the ground bore the scars of battles fought long before Liora and Elira ever set foot there. They were seated now in what passed for a dining hall, an open, crumbling structure of black stone and timber, where long wooden tables stretched beneath torchlight that flickered against the walls like restless spirits.
It was strange, almost surreal, how peaceful the moment appeared on the surface. Liora's wrist still ached from the chains that had bound her only a few days before, but she sat upright, her posture commanding even in exhaustion. Across from her, Elira fidgeted, her small hands trembling as she picked at the bread placed before her. The rogues had brought them food—real food, not scraps and water that didn't reek of iron or blood. It was almost enough to make one believe they were guests instead of captives. Almost.
