The Hollow Pass held its breath.
The stillness was suffocating, thick as wool pressed over the mouths of thousands. Soldiers on both sides stood in locked formations, weapons clenched too tightly, eyes straining toward the two figures at the heart of it all. After the roar of clashing lines and the brutal collapse of the Wraith-knight, this silence was not peace—it was a taut string drawn to breaking. Even the mountains seemed to crouch lower, their ridges casting long shadows that narrowed the world into an arena.
Dust from shattered stone and burnt flesh hung in the air. It clung to armor, streaked sweat-slick faces, lodged in throats until every swallow felt like gravel. A crimson haze tinted the western sky where the sun slipped lower, as if the horizon itself bled in anticipation.
