Dawn came slowly, reluctantly, as if the sun itself were hesitant to witness what remained of the battlefield. I watched it from the window of my chambers, the pale gold light spreading across the sky, chasing away the shadows that had clung to the fortress through the long night. The stars had faded, one by one, and the world was grey and cold and quiet.
I had not slept. I had tried, had lain in the darkness with my eyes closed, willing my body to rest. But every time I drifted toward unconsciousness, the faces came—the child who had died in my arms, the old man who had asked about his grandson, the woman with the hammer who had fought beside me in the square. They were gone, and I was here, and I did not know how to carry the weight of their absence.
Kaelen had left hours ago, called away by the duties that would not wait. There were wounded to tend, defences to repair, and supplies to distribute. The battle was over, but the work of survival had just begun.
