The battlefield was breathless.
Mud clung to boots. Smoke curled upward like fading memories. Trees stood half-burnt and trembling, the scent of ozone and blood thick in the damp air.
Rayne staggered to one knee, his glaive buried in the dirt to hold himself upright. Blood trickled from his temple, his breath ragged. Across from him, Layla stood barely taller, sabers drooping, frost magic sparking weakly at her fingertips.
Nyx still stood with eerie grace, her void aura a flickering shadow around her body. Her eyes remained sharp, calculating—but even she couldn't mask the fatigue in her trembling hands. "I could keep going," she muttered, "but only because stubbornness is a curse."
Seraphina knelt beside Liora, who had drained her last glyph stabilizing Lucielle's injuries. Rin's coat hung in tatters, his movements sluggish as he fended off Lucielle's final lunges, both fighters barely conscious of the fight they continued to enact on muscle memory alone.
