Cornelia turned slowly in place, her breath uneven, her chest rising and falling as if she had just run through fire.
The camp around her looked wrong.
Too quiet.
Too blood to look at.
Bodies lay scattered where the battle had torn through, armored forms sprawled in the dirt, weapons half buried, banners torn and soaked dark.
The air still carried the thick smell of blood and scorched mana, and every time she inhaled, her head throbbed harder, as if something inside her skull was trying to claw its way out.
"Cain?" she called, her voice hoarse, cracking on the second syllable.
No answer came. Only the low moan of the wind passing through shattered tents and snapped pikes.
Her heart jumped. The last thing she remembered clearly was rage. A red, drowning rage that had swallowed everything else. Humans. Holy light.
Pain that would not stop scratching at her skin. After that, there was nothing but fragments, blurred images that refused to line up properly.
