The battlefield didn't scream anymore.
It whispered.
Boots crunched on broken stone. Mana still clung to the air like fog too proud to leave. The courtyard was hollowed—less a place of safety and more a mausoleum made too early.
Luneth stood in the center of it all.
Ice affinity had its uses.
She didn't sweat. Didn't panic.
But even now, even with her mana cooling the space around her into a still mist, her fingers twitched once. Just once.
That was enough to be a problem.
Across the courtyard, Cassian lay curled beside the scorched edge of a statue. His leg was bent wrong. Too much blood. Not enough sound. But he was breathing.
'He's fine. Or close enough. I think.'
Vivienne was kneeling beside him, coat shredded, fire-imbued sparks still humming faintly at her fingertips. She wasn't speaking. Just holding pressure against the wound.
Valen stood motionless a few feet away, face unreadable. The wind didn't even move around him.
'He's too still,' Luneth thought.
