The battlefield fell silent, save for the distant crackle of dying embers and the heavy breaths of the survivors.
Artemis leaned heavily on her knees, her claws retracting slowly as exhaustion washed over her like a tidal wave. The crimson glow in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a raw, aching fatigue.
Elara was at her side in an instant, one hand steadying Artemis's shoulder, the other wiping sweat and grime from her brow.
"You pushed yourself too hard," Elara said softly, worry threading her voice.
Artemis gave a tired smile, the corners of her lips trembling. "If I don't, who will?"
Around them, the group gathered—battle-worn, shaken, but alive. Lyra was tending to minor wounds, while others helped fortify the perimeter against any lingering threats.
Nova was nowhere to be seen, her absence a sharp ache in the pit of Artemis's stomach.
Elara caught Artemis's gaze, a silent question hanging between them.
"We need to regroup," Artemis whispered. "This victory—it's just a moment. The Rift will open again. And when it does… we need to be ready."
Elara nodded, her hand tightening around Artemis's. "Together."
As the stars peeked through the settling smoke, Artemis let herself finally breathe. The fire inside her had not just been a weapon tonight—it was a reminder.
A reminder of the fight ahead, and of those she fought to protect.