The Iron Line breathed again.
Erebus had already faded back into the cool places between things, his gates closing one by one. Valeria slipped into my shadow with a last brush along my wrist, satisfied with the state of the fence. Only Luna stayed, Purelight still glowing at her fingertips as she moved from stretcher to stretcher, checking bandages, easing pain, scolding anyone who tried to stand too soon.
I took another slow look at the field. The ward choir sat on their stools, shaking and smiling, the conductor with her head in her hands while laughter and tears tangled in her throat. The fence anchors were set; cracked posts already had replacement tags. Redeemers of Ash tended their obelisks and handed tea to anyone who would take it. Southern medics moved in practised lines. The basilisk's corpse was turning to harmless stone, the worst of its miasma trapped and burning out.
'Good,' I thought. 'Hold onto this picture.'
