The light of the array flared, swallowing Seroi and the limp body on his shoulder.
In the next breath, stone and silence replaced the ruined battlefield. They had returned to Arkenhall.
The great halls were dim, torches guttering low as though even the flames mourned. What remained of the Council stood in shadowed corners, faces drawn, robes tattered, each one carrying the look of someone who had lived too long in the span of a single day.
The air was thick with grief. The cries of families meeting the return of their dead echoed faintly down the corridors. Mothers clutching broken sons. Fathers holding daughters who would never wake again. Lovers kneeling in silence before bodies that once held laughter. No voice rose in triumph. The halls of Arkenhall were filled with loss.
