The clearing still smelled of scorched feathers and churned earth. Just moments ago, chaos had been clawing and shrieking in every direction—Plyburg wings beating wildly, talons scraping dirt, knights shouting orders. Now, the silence felt heavy and earned. The monsters lay defeated or scattered, and the men and women who fought them slumped against trees and boulders, catching their breath, wiping sweat and grime from their brows.
Gareth, after giving a quick once-over to ensure no one was seriously injured, finally sheathed his sword with a long exhale. Only then did he stride toward Luke and Ilyrana, his expression stuck somewhere between disbelief, relief, and the exasperation of an older brother catching a younger sibling sneaking out past curfew.
He planted his shield into the ground, leaned on it, and stared at Luke for a solid three seconds.
"…Okay," Gareth started, voice flat. "Explain."
Luke blinked.
"Explain what?"
