The room had grown too quiet. Gorr's body lay still on the cold, hard floor, a warrior in repose. His face, though pale and empty, held no fear. There was peace in the lines of it—an ending accepted, not resisted. The blood had stopped pouring from his neck, but its thick pool darkened the floor around him like a shadow refusing to lift.
Liam sat with his back against the wall, knees drawn slightly up, sword resting across his lap. His breathing was low, steady, but his jaw was tight, clenched in a way that showed the storm brewing just beneath. Across from him, Marcus stood, hands clasped before him, his head bowed.
He muttered softly.
"Spirit of the his gods... take him fast. Let him walk among warriors. Let Threk greet him with laughter, not silence. Let his soul not wander."
