The morning after the battle, Duskfall was quiet.
Smoke still drifted in the air from the torches and fires lit to burn the dead. The joy from the celebration had faded into silence. Soldiers limped through the city. Healers moved from house to house, treating wounds.
Liam walked alone through the upper levels of the city. He paused on the northern wall, staring at the battlefield that had burned only hours before. Bodies have been cleared, but blood still soaked the earth, dark and dry.
Damian found him there, quiet.
“Looks different now, doesn’t it?” he said, stepping up beside Liam.
Liam didn’t move. His hands rested on the stone, eyes locked on the horizon.
“We won,” Damian added. But why does it feel like something’s still here?”
"Because it is," he replied. Victory doesn’t bri
