The silence of the ruins was oppressive. The air felt heavy, as though the very earth was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the stillness. Eryndor’s heart still raced in her chest, her body trembling from the aftermath of the battle. She had won. But what had she truly won?
Kaelen’s voice broke through her thoughts, a rough whisper. “Is she…?” He gestured to Lyria’s lifeless form, his usual bravado subdued.
Eryndor’s gaze shifted to the sorceress, the once-powerful leader of the cult now reduced to a mere shadow of what she had been. Lyria’s body lay crumpled among the shattered stones, her eyes wide open, lifeless and empty. The rune symbols that had once pulsed with power on her skin were now gone, as though the very essence of her had been erased by the force
