The aftermath of the battle with the Centaurion was unlike anything the group had ever witnessed. Everywhere they looked, death stared back. There wasn't a single patch of ground untouched by blood or bodies—or what remained of them. The field was littered with mangled corpses, a grim testament to the slaughter that had unfolded.
Those who survived stood silently, the weight of it all pressing down on their shoulders. Grief and exhaustion carved deep lines into their faces, their expressions growing darker with every passing second as they stared at what was left of the once-mighty force.
"Let's gather what we need and leave," Ezra said, his voice raw with grief.
Unlike Vale and the others, Ezra had known these soldiers for years. He had marched with them, laughed with them, and trusted them. They had followed him into battle—and now, they were all gone.
