The fires had stopped.
The screams had faded.
But the silence that followed was worse.
The once-glorious capital of Ardenthal now lay in ash and ruin. Towers that had touched the clouds were now broken teeth on the horizon. Homes lay cracked open like shells, and the cobbled streets ran black with dried shadow-blood.
The battle was over.
But the wounds remained.
Evelyn stood at the edge of the square where the Citadel had fallen.
She didn't cry anymore. She'd done that already. Now her heart felt like stone—heavy, cold, unmovable. Lucien stood beside her in silence, arms crossed. Neither spoke.
Until she whispered, "Was it worth it?"
Lucien glanced down at her. "What do you mean?"
She looked at the rubble. "We saved the city… but it doesn't feel like we won. So many people lost everything."
He nodded slowly. "That's war, Evelyn. It takes more than it gives."
She turned to him. "But how do we keep going?"
Lucien didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out and gently touched her shoulder.
"You don't keep going for the victory. You keep going for the ones who can't."
That was when she leaned into him—not as a warrior or a leader—but as a girl still trying to carry the weight of a world. He wrapped his arms around her quietly, grounding her, holding her together without saying a word.
Across the ruined courtyard, Elara sat on a broken stone pillar. Her side still throbbed from the slash. Blood had dried in streaks down her tunic. She didn't bother to clean it.
She stared at her hands, still trembling.
"I've seen a lot of death," she muttered. "But today… it was different."
Kael sat a few feet away, sharpening his blade with slow, practiced strokes. "Because this time, it wasn't your past. It was your present."
She flinched. "I don't need a lecture."
"I'm not giving one," he said without looking up. "I'm just saying it aloud because you won't."
She glanced at him. "You don't know anything about me."
He looked up now—his mismatched eyes steady and quiet. "You're right. I don't. But I know the way you swing a blade like you're trying to forget something. I know you flinch more at kindness than at pain. And I know you fight like dying would be easier than letting someone in."
Silence.
Then, Elara let out a sharp laugh—raw and humorless.
"You think that's impressive?" she said. "That's not insight. That's just what I am."
Kael stood and walked toward her slowly. Not aggressive. Not soft.
Just steady.
"You can keep living in armor if you want," he said. "But don't lie to yourself and pretend that armor isn't starting to rust."
Elara turned her face away. Her voice cracked. "You don't understand what I've done."
Kael's voice dropped, quieter. "Then tell me."
Her breath caught.
No one had ever asked that.
Not Lucien. Not even Evelyn.
She looked at him now—really looked—and found something unexpected:
Not pity.
Just presence.
"I—" she started, then stopped.
He waited.
"I killed them," she whispered. "My whole unit. They were my family. They trusted me. And I walked them into a trap. I didn't even flinch when it happened. I survived. They didn't. That's who I am."
Kael's face didn't change.
He stepped closer.
Then he sat beside her.
"I killed my brother," he said simply. "He turned. I didn't stop him in time. When I finally did… it was with my own hands."
She turned to him sharply. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because pain likes to lie to us," Kael said. "It tells us we're monsters when all we are is human. You don't have to prove anything to me, Elara. You don't even have to like me. But I won't let you carry it alone anymore."
Elara looked down, her hands tightening.
Then, for the first time in years—
She let them shake.
And didn't try to hide it.
As dusk fell, Evelyn rejoined them.
Lucien walked ahead, scouting the outer perimeter. The city was being evacuated. Survivors were few. Hope even fewer.
"We move at sunrise," Evelyn said quietly.
Kael nodded. "Where?"
"To the ruins of Orndale. The last piece of the prophecy is buried there."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "Prophecy?"
Evelyn didn't smile. "Apparently, I'm the flame that must burn away the god's shadow."
"Dramatic," Kael said dryly.
"Stupid," Elara muttered.
But then she looked at Evelyn—and saw the fire behind her eyes.
Not fury.
Conviction.
And maybe… just maybe… something that could win this war.
That night, Elara didn't sleep.
But she didn't stand guard either.
She sat beside the fire while Kael leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed, one eye always on her.
They didn't speak much.
They didn't need to.
But as she slowly drifted to sleep, Kael whispered something—barely loud enough for the night to hear.
"Don't break, Elara. You've survived too much to shatter now."
And for the first time in a long, long time—
She didn't dream of blood.