Uriel exhaled slowly.
The battlefield had fallen silent, but the silence didn't feel right—something was wrong. It wasn't the peaceful calm that follows victory, but something heavier, oppressive, as if something invisible still lingered, watching from the shadows and waiting for the right moment to act.
Dust from shattered bones drifted lazily through the air, while remnants of negative energy clung to the ground like a thin mist that refused to fully dissipate. Uriel tightened his grip on the handle of his hammer before murmuring:
"Something's not right…"
Miguel lowered Soleil's icon slightly, which, after being used, had begun to burn, and his expression shifted from relief to unease in seconds.
"You feel it too." It wasn't a question.
Anastasia tilted her head curiously, her crimson eyes scanning the surroundings calmly; even without her skeletons, she didn't seem worried—only intrigued.
