The fire had died to embers by dawn, leaving behind the smell of smoke and the silence of the dead. Ash drifted through the air like falling snow, clinging to skin and hair, staining everything grey. The valley that had roared with battle only hours before now lay still, broken weapons scattered among bodies that would never rise again.
Evelyn stood in the centre of it all, her cloak torn, her hands streaked with blood that wasn't entirely her own. The cold morning light made the world look unreal, as though she were standing inside a dream that refused to end. Her sword hung loose at her side, its edge blackened where Fji's corrupted blood had touched it.
She should have felt triumph. Fji was gone, his fire finally extinguished. But all she felt was a hollow ache, an emptiness that pulsed deep in her chest.
