The battlefield fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of those still standing. Smoke curled upward in lazy spirals, the acrid scent of fire and blood hanging thick in the air like a shroud. Dust settled slowly over the broken stones, the chaos now a fading memory beneath the weight of victory.
Kaela stood motionless, her sword still dripping crimson, her body trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline. Every ache, every wound was a testament to the fierce battle that had just ended — a brutal symphony of pain, courage, and sacrifice.
Around her, the rebels moved cautiously, eyes scanning for any lingering threats. Ava wiped sweat and grime from her brow, her expression softening as she caught sight of Kaela's unwavering figure. Joren leaned heavily on a broken pillar, his face marked by dirt and relief.
The Ashen commander lay still, his chest rising and falling shallowly, defeated but alive. Kaela's gaze softened, a complex mix of emotions flickering in her eyes — triumph, sorrow, and an unspoken understanding of the cost of war.
The distant sounds of reinforcements grew louder, the clatter of armor and marching feet promising aid and the hope of rebuilding.
Kaela sheathed her sword slowly, the weight of the battle settling on her shoulders like a mantle. She closed her eyes briefly, feeling the surge of relief mingled with the gnawing questions of what lay ahead.
Victory was only the beginning.