Chapter 786 - Hope Measured in Practical Units (End)

Ash-gray mist curled over the plateau in loose skeins, drifting low enough to kiss the tent ropes and snag on splintered pikes. It had the sour tang of half-quenched fire: charcoal, wet sailcloth, a memory of fat and flesh burned hurriedly to keep contagion at bay. The pyres themselves were no longer flames but heaps of red-eyed coals, giving off the occasional sigh that sounded uncomfortably like a body settling deeper into a grave. Around them, broken mirror shards glittered in sullen islands—jagged, soot-smudged, edges drooping as though heat had wilted the very glass.