The smoke had not yet cleared from the battlefield when Darian staggered out of the ruins, his cloak torn, his body slick with ash and blood—some his, most not. The once-blazing tower behind him groaned before collapsing in on itself with a thunderous cry, a monument to the madness he had barely survived.
But Darian didn't look back.
He couldn't.
Not with what lay ahead.
He stepped into the dying light of dusk, his eyes scanning the horizon for signs of the others—those who had fought, those who had fallen, and those who had betrayed them all. The silence around him was heavy, broken only by the crackle of smouldering timber and the distant howl of wind sweeping over broken stones.
A low voice emerged from behind a fractured column.
"You lived… again."
Darian turned swiftly, blade half-drawn, until he saw the familiar limp of Commander Vess, dragging a wounded leg behind him, eyes hollow but still burning with grit.
