The weight of the battle dissipated along with the fog, but the air still felt thick—not from magic, but from the presence of everyone who remained there.
The floor of the destroyed ship still trembled slightly, as if the place itself were trying to recover from what had happened.
Golden ashes—the same ones that had glowed like suspended embers minutes ago—now piled up in small mounds, slowly descending to the cracked floor.
Kael stood motionless, sword in hand, watching Var'khan's arched body.
The shaman breathed as if he had been running for days—each inhalation seemed like a painful scratch on his lungs, and each exhalation, a dry sob.
His runes, once alive and pulsating, now looked like faded scars, reminders of a power that no longer belonged to him.
Asuka approached with measured steps, her gaze never leaving Kael.
"You finished him off." It was not a question. It was a cold, stark observation.
