The air in the clearing felt heavy. Like power itself had weight. The smell of money and authority hung everywhere.
Tents of crimson, blue, and silver silk had formed a ring around the area. Banners snapped in the wind. Servants moved quietly, their faces calm and professional.
Their eyes kept drifting toward the tent where six heroes sat on silk cushions, trying to look whole when they were still broken inside.
Inside that tent, the luxury felt wrong. Obscene. Out of place after everything they'd been through.
The fruit tasted too good. Too bright. Too perfectly ripe. Each bite was almost painful. A reminder that the world still had people who could smile and laugh while others died screaming. While friends fell and never got back up.
