The aftermath was a wound upon the world.
Smoke hung heavy in the air, curling through the crimson canopy like mourning veils. The witches we had saved stumbled through the ruins of their sacred grove, their faces hollowed by pain and exhaustion. The ground was scorched, the circle of stones cracked by dark magic, and the scent of burnt flesh lingered like a curse.
I knelt beside Mira, checking the pulse at her neck. She stirred, whispering something I couldn’t understand—fragments of prophecy, maybe. Or memories slipping free after the battle’s frenzy.
Kael sat nearby, blade buried in the earth beside him, blood staining his arms and chest. He met my gaze and gave a faint nod, a silent confirmation: still alive.
Selene moved like a ghost among the survivors, comforting those she could
