Mortal Realm (Ostarius)
The battlefield was still smoking. The skies had stopped weeping, but the land hadn't forgotten. Ash clung to the air like breath held too long. Cracked stones littered the ground, and the scent of burned magic still hung heavy.
Boris stood up slowly, brushing dust off his coat. He looked around, eyes sharp.
"…What was that just now?"
Everyone had felt it — the pressure. That overwhelming force that forced their knees to buckle, their breath to stop.
Fowler let out a low whistle and stretched his back, trying to shake it off.
"I thought we were about to get a round two," he said with a weak grin. "My heart's still punching my ribs."
No one laughed.
Not really.
Not even him.
They were tired. Not just in body — but in soul.
