The air was thick with the coppery tang of blood and the pungent stench of smoke. Hollow Ridge, once a sanctuary of hope and rebellion, now lay shrouded in a cloud of ash. Fires crackled in the distance, licking at the bones of destroyed barricades. The moon hung overhead like a sentinel, watching in silence as the aftermath of war unfolded beneath it.
Aria stood near the edge of the eastern cliff, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the final wave of Ronan's forces had fallen mere hours ago. Her clothes were torn, soaked in dirt, sweat, and blood—some hers, some not. Her silver eyes gleamed, unreadable, and her silence carried the weight of all they had lost.
Kael joined her, his own armor dented and bloodied. A deep gash carved across his cheek had finally stopped bleeding, though it throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He didn't speak immediately. He stood beside her, letting the silence settle between them.
