The forest did not celebrate victory.
It did not tremble in awe, nor did it recoil in fear at the clash that had just taken place within its depths. It did not acknowledge strength, nor did it care for defeat. To the ancient wilderness that had stood long before tamers, beasts, and empires alike, battles were nothing more than fleeting disturbances—momentary ripples across a surface that would inevitably return to stillness.
And so, it did.
Silence settled over the clearing once more, thick and unbroken, as though nothing of significance had occurred at all.
The scorched earth bore the marks of intense conflict, and fractured stone lay scattered where immense force had struck the ground. Yet even these signs were already beginning to fade. The bodies of the fallen beasts—once powerful, once coordinated—were dissolving into streams of residual energy that seeped slowly into the soil.
It was a quiet reclamation.
A silent consumption.
