The war was over, but the silence that followed was heavier than the clamor of battle.
Ash drifted through the morning air like falling snow as the first rays of sunlight touched the war-scarred land. The once-vibrant meadows outside Silvercrest were stained with blood, bodies being gathered with reverence—both friend and foe.
Evelyn stood at the riverbank, barefoot, her bloodied armor discarded. Her reflection rippled in the water: bruised skin, haunted eyes, but a fierce, undeniable strength shining through.
Behind her, healers and warriors moved like ghosts—tending wounds, mourning the dead, whispering words of relief that felt too fragile to say aloud.
It was done.
Kade was dead.
The rogues had either fled or surrendered.
But victory had never felt so bittersweet.
Evelyn knelt
