When Seran arrived at the battlefield, he understood the scale of it at once.
The land itself had been rewritten by violence.
The air still burned with fading law-residue. Chunks of earth had been turned over like pages ripped from a book.
In the distance, the last remains of a circle-like formation were dissolving into ash-light and spent essence. He did not know why, but the remnants of it struck him with a familiarity so sharp that his breath caught.
His eyes lowered.
And then he saw the body.
It was barely a body anymore.
Broken beyond dignity. Ruined beyond recognition. A young man reduced to aftermath, lying in the place where too much of the world had tried to kill him at once.
Seran stopped.
He did not know why his body stopped.
He did not know why his hands had suddenly become cold, or why his chest had tightened so violently that for one impossible second, he thought he might have been struck by some hidden attack.
He stared.
The face was gone.
