The field stank of smoke, blood, and churned earth.
Where moments ago Ignarion's banners had charged like an unbroken tide, now they lay trampled and torn in the mud, their owners scattered among shattered shields and splintered lances.
The once-bright gleam of enchanted plate was dulled by powder burns, pitted by jagged holes that gaped like black wounds.
Caedrion stepped over the body of a horse, its barding split clean through, steam still curling from the wound.
He holstered his revolver with deliberate calm, the smell of ash lingering on the weapon's frame.
Captain Jeren approached slowly, as if afraid that raising his voice might shatter the fragile reality of what had just happened.
His armor was spattered with blood not his own, his visor up, revealing wide eyes that hadn't yet decided whether to believe or fear the man before him.
"…By the Eidolons…" Jeren breathed. "We… we actually broke them."
