Darion stood in the middle of the street.
The battle was over.
Yet somehow, the silence that followed felt louder than the fighting.
No more screams. No more clashing steel. No more warriors charging toward him with hatred in their eyes.
Only the occasional crackle of fire from a damaged building, the distant sound of a roof collapsing, and the heavy breathing of hundreds of men who had just watched their world end.
Darion slowly lowered his sword. Golden light still lingered faintly along the blade before disappearing, the magic fading like embers catching the wind.
He stared at the steel. Blood covered it, thick and dark. Some of it belonged to the warriors he had killed. Some of it belonged to Dross.
He couldn't even tell anymore. It was all just red.
