The battlefield was silent now, but the echoes of war lingered in the air. The stench of blood clung to the earth, mingling with the faint smoke of burning timber. Warriors groaned as healers moved among them, tending wounds with steady hands. Wolves limped back toward the safehouses, their eyes hollow but their backs unbowed.
Zaria stood at the center of it all, her blade sheathed, her body weary. She should have collapsed from exhaustion, but she refused to let herself bend, not when so many eyes still turned to her for strength.
The Queen did not falter. Not in victory. Not in the shadows of loss.
Damian hovered at her side, his presence a steady wall against the chaos. His shirt was torn, blood streaking his collar, but his eyes never left her. If he was injured, he hid it well. His
