The battlefield was quiet.
Not the peaceful quiet of victory.
But the kind of silence that came after something enormous had happened something the world itself was still trying to understand.
Smoke drifted slowly across the shattered ground. Trees at the edge of the forest leaned crookedly, their bark split from the shockwave that had torn through the land minutes earlier.
Aurelia stood in the center of it all.
Her breathing was slow, uneven.
The golden glow that had once surrounded her had faded, leaving only a faint shimmer that clung to her skin like moonlight refusing to disappear.
Darius still held her arm.
His grip was firm, almost possessive.
"You pushed too far," he growled.
Aurelia glanced at him.
"And yet we're still alive."
"That doesn't mean it was smart."
Before she could answer, Lucien stepped forward.
His gaze swept over her carefully, the same way a commander inspected damage after battle.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
