A few hours had passed since the clash.
The sky was now tinged with violet and orange hues—the evening was falling over the mansion, reflecting in the reconstructed stained-glass windows of the training hall. The marks of destruction had disappeared; the walls were once again spotless, the stone floor gleaming as if it had never been torn apart by explosions of wind and shadow.
The mansion's maids, efficient and discreet, walked back and forth, collecting the last bits of magical dust that still lingered in the air. Some murmured restoration spells, others simply cleaned with enchanted cloths that moved on their own.
In the center of the field, Roxanne sat on a still-warm stone, her right arm bandaged. She silently watched the horizon, her gaze lost—but not tired. There was something content in her expression.
The light breeze played with the loose strands of her hair, and she took a deep breath, savoring the calm air after the chaos.
