The mountain had finally grown quiet.
Not the quiet of peace.
The quiet that follows violence.
Ash drifted slowly through the air like gray snow, settling across shattered stone and deep fractures carved into the mountainside.
The crater left by Shaurya's final strike stretched wide across the battlefield, its jagged edges still glowing faintly where molten rock had begun to cool.
The wind carried the smell of burnt earth.
And blood.
At the center of the crater—
Shaurya stood alone.
His chest rose slowly.
Fell.
Rose again.
The blazing golden aura that had once wrapped around him like a raging sun was gone now.
Only faint traces of light clung to his skin like dying embers, flickering weakly before fading into the gray air.
Blood stained his robes.
Some of it dark.
Some still fresh.
His expression did not change.
His eyes moved slowly across the battlefield.
Broken stone.
Collapsed terraces.
