The thing we fought didn't leave a corpse. No body. No blood. Just a smudge on the ground where the heat went sideways and a patch of air that no one wanted to breathe anymore.
Which is rude, frankly. If you're going to try to kill me, at least leave something I can autopsy or loot.
I stood at the edge of the basin. Dust in my fur, ash clinging to everything. My claws ached like I'd spent the last hour gripping something too tightly. I had. My own control. The basin flame didn't recover.
It just sat there. Barely burning. Giving off the kind of warmth you only noticed because you were colder than usual.
I paced around the edge. Not sure what I was looking for. Not sure I'd recognize it if I saw it.
Relay held up his slate. Blank.
I didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted.
Probably both. Nothing like facing unspeakable horror only to discover it didn't even leave enough vibes behind to sketch.
