No Rest

The battlefield was unrecognizable now. What was once a lush and vibrant forest had been reduced to a wasteland.

The earth beneath their feet was charred black, scorched by the aftermath of the powerful magic and Erend's dragon fire that had ravaged it. Scattered remnants of trees lay shattered and smoking. Their trunks broken like brittle twigs. Ash floated in the air, carried on the remnants of the wind.

Adrius and Lysander stood a few paces apart, both breathing heavily. Their bodies drained from the intense battle. The forest, or what remained of it, was silent now, save for the occasional crackle of lingering flames and the soft rustle of settling debris.

For a moment, there was nothing but the stillness. The heavy sense of finality hanging over them like a cloud.