The flames still hadn't gone out.
They licked the edges of the ruined plaza, curling up the black stone walls like red vines, hungrily eating through banners and storefronts alike. The people, those who hadn't already fled, were watching from the cracks in the broken buildings. Silent. Frozen.
Lindarion stood in the middle of it all, shoulders rising and falling with shallow breath.
Ashwing circled above in wide, lazy arcs, his wings stirring the clouds and smoke.
The silence was too loud.
He could still feel the demon's blood on his knuckles. Could still hear the sound of broken stone and scattering bones. The pressure in his chest hadn't eased. It just sat there, boiling. Choking him a little more with every heartbeat.
Then—
A voice.
Small.
Trembling.
"Please… stop."
Lindarion's gaze flicked sideways.
A girl had stepped into the plaza.
