The sun had barely begun to rise when Lyla stood at the highest point of the ruins, watching.
The sky was painted in the dull shades of pre-dawn, the first hint of light barely breaking over the horizon.
But the land beneath it was already drenched in blood.
Her warriors moved through the aftermath of the battle, tending to the wounded, stacking the dead, preparing for what would come next.
Because this was not the end.
It was barely the beginning.
Lyla inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of it settle in her chest.
She could almost hear the echoes of the last battle still ringing through the ruins
The clash of steel.
The snarls of wolves.
The cries of the dying.
She had thought, for a moment, that winning would bring her something close to relief.
But all she felt was pressure.
