The aftermath of the battle was a wearying blend of relief and sorrow. The camp, though victorious, bore the scars of the recent conflict. Wounded soldiers were tended to, makeshift triage stations set up, and the remnants of the dark army were cleared from the battlefield. The victory had come at a cost, and the toll was visible in the faces of everyone around.
Elara, exhausted from the intense exertion of controlling the Veil's power, retreated to a quiet corner of the camp. The ritual had left her drained, and the whispers of the Veil still tugged at the edges of her mind. She needed a moment to collect herself and assess the extent of the changes within her.
As she sat alone, Cedric approached with a concerned look. "How are you holding up?"
Elara looked up at him, forcing a tired smile. "I'm managing. The Veil's power is… more than I anticipated. It's a constant strain to keep it in check."