The guild transport rumbled along the dirt road, leaving Ashwick and the Tower of Ash behind. Through the rear window, Nathan watched the black tower shrink against the morning sky, its crimson mana veins pulsing with that same steady, indifferent rhythm. It looked smaller from a distance. Less menacing. But he knew better now. He'd felt its heat, breathed its ash, watched his party's summons shatter one by one.
Old Marren had taken one look at their faces when they boarded and grunted. Garrett's hollow eyes, Dillon's silence, the way Nathan cradled his hand. He didn't speak for the entire five-hour journey, and that was exactly what they needed.
The silence in the bus was different now. On the ride out, it had been filled with anticipation, nerves, excitement, and tension. Now there was only the quiet of shared exhaustion. It wasn't the silence of grief, but the calm that came after surviving something difficult.
