That night didn't fall all at once.
It came in pieces. It felt difficult to pass.
Lanterns were lit earlier than usual along the southern approach. The field where the fighting had been was cordoned off with rope and ward markers. Healers moved between the injured, kneeling, murmuring instructions, snapping fingers when someone drifted. Calls from family came and knew about their loved ones.
Ren sat where he'd been left, back against stone, cloak pulled tighter as the heat bled out of him. His hands still shook—not badly, but enough that he noticed.
Nyxa passed him a flask. "Drink."
He did. Water. Cool. Real.
Nearby, Elara was getting a cut stitched. She didn't complain, just stared past the healer and said, "That thing is painful."
"I can understand but it's good that you're still standing," the healer replied. "So it didn't."
Seroi walked past, helmet off, hair damp with sweat. "Casualty count?"
"Six unable to continue," Ervin said. "Two critical. No civilians lost."
