The morning broke colder than expected.
Selene stood at the edge of the riverbank again, watching the mist crawl over the water like pale fingers gripping the earth. The battlefield behind her was quiet now—only the low murmur of soldiers tending to the wounded, the clatter of broken armor, and the rhythmic thump of hammers rebuilding barricades.
Victory had come, but victory was never silent.
Her captain approached with a parchment in hand, his breath visible in the crisp air. "Commander, scouts returned from the northern ridge. They found tracks—fresh ones. Heavy movement. Too many to be simple deserters."
Selene took the parchment without looking at it. "Rebels regrouping?"
"Or something worse," he replied. "They weren't moving away from us. They were circling."
Her jaw tightened. "Corvus may be dead, but desperation doesn't die with its leader."
