For several seconds, nobody moved.
The streets of Vrethka had fallen into an unnatural, suffocating silence. It was the kind of quiet that only followed absolute, overwhelming violence. The crackle of distant fires and the soft shifting of rubble were the only sounds that dared to interrupt it.
Hundreds of warriors remained on their knees, their weapons scattered across the blood-soaked ground. Some kept their heads lowered, their foreheads nearly touching the dirt in complete submission.
Others dared to look up at the man standing before them, the man who had marched into their settlement alone, fought their entire force, killed their chief, and forced the survivors to surrender.
The moonlight caught the blood on their faces, on their armor, on the broken cobblestones. It painted a grim picture of a battle that had turned into a slaughter.
Darion stood at the center of it all. His breathing was slowly returning to normal, though his chest still felt tight.
