The sky was already tinged with amber and gray as Kael made his way through the rubble, guided by the faint groans coming from a pile of broken stones, charred wood, and fallen banners.
The two wounded men were almost unrecognizable: covered in dried blood, ash, and shreds of torn cloth. One had lost part of his armor in the impact, and the other kept his eyes half-closed, as if at any second unconsciousness would overcome him.
Kael knelt beside the first, a young man, his skin stained with blood and soot. His breathing was ragged, and his chest heaved with effort.
The other—an older soldier with scars on his face—shuddered as he approached. He tried to speak, but the sound that came out was only a muffled wheeze.
Kael raised his hand.
His palm glowed a soft golden green, and a light breeze blew around them, as if nature itself answered the call.
