Dawn brought a brittle quiet. Kael moved among the battlefield, sensing the remaining souls. Many were fragmented, chaotic, lost in despair. The hunger pulsed urgently, whispering seductions: consume them all, gain unstoppable strength. Kael's hands shook with temptation, but he acted only where necessary, stabilizing the rest without surrendering to the void.
He paused at the remnants of a small group of children's souls, their flickers weak but persistent. He could feel the pull stronger than ever, the temptation to take them for clarity and strength. But Kael resisted, threading them into safety, guiding them gently to rest or integration. Each choice was a tiny victory over the darkness, each act of restraint a reaffirmation of his humanity.
By midday, Kael had restored much of the battlefield. The living survivors looked to him with fear and awe, and he felt the weight of every life touched, every fragment manipulated. True power, he realized, lay not in domination or destruction, but in measured mercy. His mastery had grown, but so had the understanding of its cost.