The night's darkness was slowly deepening around the village, but there was a strange kind of silence in it. The silence that comes after a battle. The kind where people begin counting their wounds — the visible ones, and those buried deep inside.
Aarya was sitting on the ridge, Feran beside him. Below, Crimson Village was breathing a new breath. Everything seemed calm, but inside Aarya, a faint voice still echoed — as if someone had said something, or some memory had returned... but only partially.
He took out the shattered Bloodthorn core from his pouch — the same one that had reacted in his hands after the Fiend Queen's death. The purple glow inside it now looked stronger. Every other second, a faint vibration reached his hand, like a heartbeat.
Feran glanced sideways, "It's alive."
