The war did not end with a victory cry.
Sword slipped from tired fingers, and tired bodies reverted back to human form and fell into ash and blood-soaked earth.
The Dominion Hall stood scarred by illusion and firelight, the remnants of battle still clinging to the air. Smoke curled lazily near the rafters, and the stone walls bore projected cracks and burn marks from the play's final clash, but the emotion beneath it was real enough to weigh heavily on every chest watching.
Kael stood at the centre of it all.
His shoulders were tense, his breath uneven as he leaned heavily against the spear planted at his side. His costume was torn now, stained dark where the prop blade had struck earlier in the battle scene.
The Alpha heir looked every bit like a man who had given everything he had left. Sweat dampened his skin, hair loose from its tie, with the strands clinging to his jaw and neck.
