Silva stayed in the air for a while after Ragna's body turned to dust.
The wind pulled at his wings, and the sky above the ruined land slowly cleared of white light. The crisis was over, the angels had stopped, and he finally let himself breathe. Then his energy gave out. It had never really been his. He had been running on what Ophelia gave him, and now the last of it drained away all at once.
His wings dipped. He glided down in a loose spiral and landed heavily on the ground, then dropped onto a flat rock at the edge of the crater and sat there, elbows on his knees, his head hanging low. His whole body ached. Everything felt hollow.
"Phew," he muttered. "That was too close."
He did not have long to rest.
