Silence fell.
The clash of elements and fury that had defined the battlefield moments ago was replaced with the soft whisper of wind and falling snow. The scorched ice where Velkran had stood now steamed gently, as though the earth itself exhaled in relief.
Where once loomed a twisted monster of bone and ruin, only mist remained—dissipating into the skies like breath from a dying god.
Across the battlefield, corrupted beasts collapsed one after another. Without Velkran's presence to sustain them, they withered into brittle husks, disintegrating where they stood. Even the undead—those reanimated by his surge of dark energy—fell limply to the snow, finally silenced.
And for a long heartbeat, there was only stillness.
Then, as if a dam had broken, cheers erupted from the surviving knights.
"We did it!"
"She won!"
"Velkran is dead!"
Knights lifted their blades, bloodied and bruised, but victorious. Healers emerged from behind the lines to rush toward the wounded, while commanders barked orders to regroup and secure the field.
At the center of the devastation stood Duchess Lireya Thorne, her silver hair damp with sweat, her armor chipped and soaked in magic-infused water. Her breath came in slow, heavy draws, her body trembling slightly from the effort of sustaining Ocean's Judgment.
But she stood.
Her blade remained steady in her hand, pointed down, the runes still faintly glowing. Her gaze swept across the field—assessing, enduring, bearing.
Knight Commander Tharyn approached, sword dragging at his side, his face streaked with soot and blood.
"You alright?" he asked.
Lireya gave a slow nod. Her voice was hoarse, but clear. "I've had better mornings."
Tharyn chuckled dryly. "I'll say."
Near the rear lines, the children remained frozen.
Alaric stood in stunned silence, his breathing heavy. His eyes remained locked on the aftermath of the battlefield.
He had watched the moment the ocean fell and Velkran vanished. He had seen Lireya raise her sword alone, face down darkness, and win.
Beside him, Lira sniffled loudly, wiping tears from her cheeks. Her small hands clutched her staff tightly as though afraid to let go. Malric stood beside her, one arm slung protectively around her shoulder, his own lips pressed into a thin line.
Jorin was quiet, staring down at his own hands. His aura had long faded, but the feeling of that awakening still lingered in his skin.
"She really saved us…" he murmured.
Alaric lowered his gaze. His hands clenched into fists. "I want to be strong," he whispered. "Strong enough to stand where she stood… and not be afraid."
As the corrupted vanished and the skies began to clear, the knights and mages began setting up a recovery perimeter. Purification spells were cast over the corrupted land. Medical tents were raised, and injured soldiers were carried by their comrades to safety.
The captains assembled near Tharyn for damage assessment.
"Casualties?" Tharyn asked.
"Thirty-six confirmed dead," said Captain Edran, grim-faced. "Most during the initial wave. Sixty more wounded—ten in critical condition."
"None of the civilians were lost," added Virel. "The duchess's barrier held."
"Barely," murmured Alithra. "The amount of energy she unleashed… it should have cost her much more."
Tharyn looked toward Lireya, who was still coordinating the retreat. Her presence was unshaken, but a strange calmness lingered around her like the eye of a passing storm.
By midmorning, the forces of the North formed into a solemn but triumphant procession. Wounded soldiers were carried in enchanted wagons, while others marched slowly behind them. The path home was lined with patches of scorched earth, shattered trees, and the corpses of defeated monsters.
In one of the rear wagons, the four children sat together—mud-streaked, bruised, but smiling.
"Four monsters," Malric said proudly. "I counted."
"Three and a half," Lira corrected. "Two were mine first."
He scoffed. "Assists still count!"
"I still saved your life," Jorin added, folding his arms smugly. "And I awakened. I'm finally Rank 1!"
Alaric chuckled. "That means you can finally enroll in Grand Arcanum with Lira and Malric next year."
Jorin grinned. "About time."
The wagon rocked as they laughed, tension melting with each passing moment.
Then Alaric's smile faded slightly, his voice softer. "I'm going to train harder… a lot harder. I want to be like the Duchess someday. Strong enough to protect people. Strong enough to make sure no one gets taken from me again."
The other three fell quiet.
Then Lira nodded, determination flashing in her eyes. "Me too."
"Same here," Malric added. "We're going to be stronger. All of us."
Jorin gave a short, resolute nod. "No more running. Next time, we'll stand."
Ahead of them, Lireya and Tharyn rode side by side. She turned her head slightly, watching the children with a faint, tired smile.
"They've already found new resolve," Tharyn said softly. "That's good."
Lireya nodded. "They'll need it. But today… let them laugh."
She turned her eyes forward again—toward the towering white spires of the duchy's capital. The North still stood. Her people still lived.
And in the laughter of children, she heard the sound of the next generation rising.