The Black Knight led them through the battlefield. Walking with heavy, purposeful steps.
Around them. The ground was littered with the aftermath of war.
Broken weapons. Shattered shields. And bodies in both red and black armor.
The air was thick with the scent of smoke, blood, and iron. It clung to the back of Kyle's throat with every breath.
He kept his grip tight on Zalrielle, his tachi. The blade still faintly cold in his hand.
His knuckles were white. He didn't trust anything here.
Not the knights. Not the silence. Not even the ground beneath his boots.
This place felt wrong. Like the entire world was holding its breath.
Eleanora walked quietly beside him. Her steps were steady, but her face gave away nothing.
She hadn't said a word since the last fight. Not even when she was bleeding. She just kept moving, calm and distant.
Serena was limping a little. She didn't complain.
