The silence after the battle was a living thing, heavy with the scent of blood, smoke, and spent magic. The pale silver moon, now cleansed of its bloody hue, watched over a field of broken bodies and broken spirits. Victory had a taste, and it was ash and copper.
The wounded were gathered. Our healers, overtaxed and pale, moved among them with grim efficiency, their supplies dwindling rapidly. The Howling Crag Alpha, whose name was Grynn, clasped forearms with Kaelen over the body of their shared enemy. Words of gratitude and alliance were exchanged, quiet and sincere, but their eyes were shadowed by loss.
My feet carried me through the aftermath, a numb automaton performing the duties of a Luna. I directed triage, thanked Grynn’s warriors, ensured our sentries were posted despite the ex
