Smoke hung thick in the forest, the stench of burnt blood and mana choking the air.
The once-lively trees were blackened and broken, their roots torn apart by magic and force.
Arthur stood at the center of the ruined clearing, sword in hand, breathing heavily. His body ached from every movement. The fight had drained him completely. His shirt was soaked in sweat and blood, most of it not his own.
Around him, Alan was sitting against a boulder, half-conscious, his fingers still twitching from mana exhaustion. Alex leaned on his sword for support, his knees shaking but his eyes still alert.
Oliver's group wasn't in much better shape. Emily was bandaging Noah's arm while Amara and Oliver scouted the surroundings, making sure no more of the Black Hand members were lurking nearby.
For the first time in hours, the forest was silent again.
Arthur sheathed his sword slowly. "...It's done."
No one spoke. The sound of wind brushing through the broken leaves filled the gap.
