Isaac knelt beside the still body of the General.
Shatterclaw remained bowed, blades in the dirt, unmoving.
Hopper landed softly on his shoulder, wings folding tight. The buzz of the swarm had faded, replaced by a heavy silence. Broken locust wings drifted with the breeze, scattered pieces of a battle already fading into memory.
Isaac winced as he shifted. The bruises across his ribs throbbed, but the pain was manageable now. His cuts had stopped bleeding.
"He wasn't my enemy," he said under his breath. "Not really."
He looked at the General one last time.
Shatterclaw had tested him, pushed him to his limit. Not out of hatred. But out of duty.
Isaac stood slowly.
He stepped forward and rested a hand on the General's shoulder. It was hard and cold, more shell than flesh, but it felt… steady.
The swarm behind him hovered in place. Watching and waiting.
Isaac's voice was low.
