The battlefield smells of burnt necrotic ash. Green veins of shattered Veil traps that pulsed faintly, with their light twitching like the last breaths of a dying lantern.
The Crest stood ragged with their breath harsh and shoulders slumped, but it was not the exhaustion of bodies that weighed heaviest, it was the exhaustion of minds.
The visions kept lingering like claws at the edge of their consciousness. Kelvin's eyes drifted, and ran to the memory that had nearly broken him: his parents was reaching for him across fire and rubble.
Even now, with the snare that was destroyed, the echo lingered while whispering guilt in the center of his heartbeat.
He dug his gauntleted fingers into the soil. Xerion's growl rumbled through his chest like a second heartbeat. The beast's mane of burning shadow flared, and its voice struck into Kelvin's mind with a force that cut clean through the lingering doubt.
