The ruins smelled of smoke and iron. The air was thick with the memory of what had just happened, though the masked figure was gone, and the Watcher with it.
But the silence was heavy, unnatural.
Aric laid the girl gently against the stone. Her breathing was shallow, each inhale a fragile thread, but she clung to life. He brushed the dirt from her face, forcing his own trembling hands to still.
Seraphel knelt over the scarred man, light glowing faintly from his palms. The cleric’s expression was grim. Sweat dripped from his brow as he pressed against the wound. “I can slow the bleeding, but… he has minutes. Maybe less.”
The scarred man coughed, his lips staining red. “Tch. Don’t waste it on me, holy man. Your light won’t fix a life already broken.”
“Be silent,” Seraphel snapped, his c
