(Adrian's POV)
The world is still trembling.
Even though the red wave has faded into the horizon, I can still feel its echo vibrating through my bones through every shattered piece of me that refuses to die. The fortress is quiet now, too quiet, as if the land itself is holding its breath. The smell of smoke, ash, and blood hangs in the air.
Damien stands at the heart of the courtyard, tall, broad, unbreakable. His armor is cracked, smeared with streaks of blackened blood that glows faintly, like dying embers.
His eyes, those molten-gold eyes, are fixed on the ruins ahead where Lucien's shadow had vanished hours ago.
I step toward him slowly, my boots crunching over broken stone. The sky is still faintly red, like an old wound refusing to close.
"Damien," I whisper, my throat raw. "He's gone."
Damien doesn't turn. "Not gone," he says, voice like thunder muted by exhaustion. "Waiting. Healing. Gathering what's left of his power."
