The field was still.
Smoke curled over broken stones, and ashes floated down like falling feathers. The air no longer howled — only silence remained, thick and heavy, like the breath before mourning.
Ezrah stepped through the wreckage, blade low, eyes searching.
He found her at the center — Aira.
She stood alone, her hair clinging to her face, clothes torn, fingers twitching with the last of her strength. Her sword was sunk deep into the ground beside her, and her back was to everyone.
"Aira…" Ezrah's voice cracked gently.
She didn't turn.
Because she was remembering.
Kaien's voice. His quiet kindness. The night he gave her his blanket when everyone else kept their distance. He had looked at her like she was human — not a monster. He never asked what she was. He just cared.
Now, he was gone.
And with his death, something inside her broke — or awakened.
"I didn't want to lose him," she whispered. "Not him."
Ezrah moved closer. "You didn't lose him. You saved what he believed in."
She looked up. Her eyes weren't glowing with rage anymore. Just sorrow.
"I thought if I fought hard enough, I could protect something. But everything I touch disappears."
He shook his head. "Kaien saw you. Truly. That matters. It changed you."
Aira blinked slowly. "Then why does it still hurt this much?"
Ezrah didn't answer. He just stepped beside her and knelt, quietly placing his palm over hers on the sword's hilt.
"You're not alone," he said.
Behind them, the rest of the squad approached—silent, bruised, but alive. Shino, Hirata, the young slayers. They all watched, unsure if they were mourning or breathing again.
Ashes floated through the sky, soft and endless.
For a moment, they all just stood — surrounded by the remnants of the battle.
No one cheered.
No one moved.
Because some victories weren't loud.
Some came with silence, with loss, and the promise to keep going.
Aira finally looked up, her voice barely a breath.
"I'll fight… for what he saw in me."
Ezrah nodded. "We all will."
As the first light of dawn broke through the clouds, the wind carried the ashes away — not as a warning, but as a requiem.