The ancient tunnels beneath Arven Manor moved in absolute silence, illuminated only by the few lanterns that had survived the battle. The sound of destruction remained distant above them, muffled by tons of stone and earth, but still perceptible. From time to time, a tremor ran through the narrow walls of the underground corridor, causing dust to fall from the arched ceiling. It was as if the earth itself were slowly absorbing the last spasms of what remained of Arven House.
No one spoke.
Not because there weren't questions.
There were too many questions.
The problem was that none of them had answers.
The surviving veterans walked in silence, carrying their wounds without complaint. Some limped. Others improvised bandages with torn pieces of their own cloaks. The smell of blood, smoke, and damp stone mingled with the cold air of the tunnel, creating a heavy atmosphere that seemed to press on their lungs.
Further ahead, Morgana walked beside her father.
