The battlefield reeked of iron.
Even after the last masked warrior had vanished into the trees, the air was heavy with blood and smoke, the silence broken only by the low moans of the wounded. Aria moved through the c*****e slowly, her bare feet dragging across the churned earth. Every warrior that lay on the ground looked up at her with eyes filled with pain and trust — trust that she felt crumbling in her chest.
She crouched beside a soldier whose flank had been torn open, pressing her hand to the wound until another healer rushed to take over. Her palms were slick with blood that wasn’t her own, and for the first time in a long time, she felt powerless.
“Luna,” one warrior rasped, his voice cracked, “did we win?”
Aria forced herself to nod. “We’re alive. That’s victory enough for no
