The first pale hours after the siege were the strangest of all. There was no singing, no triumph, only a ragged silence as the defenders of Frostfang walked among the corpses. The smell of blood, of splintered wood and burned oil, seemed to hang over every stone like a curse.
Aldric moved slowly through the courtyard, the wound in his side freshly bandaged. The Widow's corpse had been dragged aside, her black armor stripped by looters, her crown broken and trampled in the dirt. Crows circled her, picking at her torn flesh.
Kaelin approached him, helmet under her arm, her hair soaked with sweat and blood.
"Your Majesty," she said quietly, "the men are waiting for orders."
Aldric's eyes were rimmed red, heavy with exhaustion. "Bury the fallen," he told her. "See the wounded tended first, then the dead honored."
"And the prisoners?"
"Bring them to me."
Kaelin inclined her head and turned away, barking commands as she went.
---
Along the shattered gates, townsfolk stood in small, numb knots. Women carried buckets of water to douse smoking embers. Children stared at the blackened siege towers as though they were monsters from a bad dream.
Rowena moved among them, sleeves rolled high, hands stained with soot and drying blood. Each face she passed felt like another wound.
"Easy, child," she murmured to a boy whose arm was mangled, guiding him to a bench. "Breathe with me, there you go…"
She poured clean water, pressed herbs into the worst gashes, offered a thin, brave smile to those who could still meet her eyes.
In moments, she felt the surge of tears behind her calm — but she swallowed them down. There was too much work left to do.
---
Maerlyn climbed the steps from the cathedral crypts, legs trembling, fingers raw from hours of gripping magic's razor edge. As she emerged into the courtyard, the dawn light made her squint.
So many bodies.
The wards had held — just barely — but she could still taste the Widow's poison on the air. The black magic had left deep wounds in the walls themselves, scarring stone with dark, crawling sigils.
She paused by a fallen knight, recognizing the Frostfang crest on his torn surcoat. Kneeling, she closed his eyes gently and drew a rune across his brow.
"Rest," she whispered. "May the stars guard your path."
Then she stood, lifting her chin, and began searching for Aldric.
---
Kaelin's soldiers rounded up the surviving invaders — a ragged line of defeated men and women, some missing fingers or ears, most too hollow-eyed even to speak. They were corralled in the old cattle pens near the western tower, now ringed with spears and watchmen.
Aldric walked there himself, refusing a horse, leaning on a cane where the bandage bit into his ribs.
One of the captured captains, a burly man with a broken nose, spat at him through the fence.
"King of ruins," the man sneered. "Think you've won?"
Aldric met his gaze without flinching. "I think Frostfang stands, and you kneel."
He nodded to the guards. "See that they're fed. Their trials will wait. We are not beasts."
---
By midday, the worst fires were under control. The city's wells had run dry from constant buckets, and lines of villagers waited for water from barrels brought down from the hills.
Kaelin stood by a fallen standard, staring at the Widow's crow-crest. She bent, tore it from the broken pole, and tossed it into a pile of other enemy banners. Then, one by one, they set those banners alight, until the crows burned like black leaves in a sudden wind.
An old woman came up to her, clutching a leather amulet.
"Captain," the woman croaked, "my son—he was on the walls. Have you seen him?"
Kaelin felt her heart harden a little, because she had seen so many faces she could not name. Still, she took the woman's hands gently.
"I'll help you look," she promised. "No one is forgotten."
---
Deep in the keep, Aldric held council with his battered captains. The great hall was half-scorched, one of its pillars split by a catapult stone. Wind blew through a missing section of roof, rattling the shattered glass in the high windows.
Aldric had never felt so tired.
"We must rebuild," he said, voice hoarse. "And quickly. The marsh roads will open soon. If another army comes before the walls are repaired…"
One captain slammed his fist on the table. "Another army? After this?"
Aldric only shook his head. "The world is wide, and word will spread of Frostfang's weakness. The price of survival is vigilance."
Maerlyn stepped forward, her eyes haunted.
"It is more than armies you must fear," she warned. "The Widow's magic left echoes. I can feel them. Spirits unsettled. If they wake, they will bring nightmares with them."
A chill ran through the gathered officers.
Aldric nodded grimly. "Then teach me what you know. We cannot let this city fall, not to steel, nor to shadow."
---
Outside, the people began their mournful work. Fires were lit for the dead — pyres for those of no known kin, graves for those whose families came to claim them.
The songs of the priests echoed in the courtyards, low and grieving, each name read aloud before the flames took them.
Rowena helped carry the bodies, refusing to turn away.
A girl of maybe ten years, face bruised, held Rowena's hand and watched the fires with blank eyes.
"Will they come back?" the girl asked.
Rowena squeezed her fingers. "No, child. They rest now."
---
That night, with the last embers glowing over the ruined gate, Aldric climbed to the battlements. He stared out at the marsh, its black waters quiet and strange under a thin silver moon.
Kaelin joined him, carrying two cups of weak mead. She handed him one without a word, leaning on the parapet beside him.
"Not the victory you dreamed of," she said at last.
Aldric shook his head. "No."
They drank in silence for a moment, listening to the wind.
Kaelin asked, "What will you do with the prisoners?"
"Try them fairly," Aldric said, though he sounded far away. "If they wish to stay, rebuild, take an oath to Frostfang — perhaps they can. Otherwise, they go free. We cannot become executioners."
Kaelin gave him a hard look. "That's more mercy than I'd offer."
Aldric sighed. "Mercy is all that separates us from them."
---
Maerlyn came to them before dawn, eyes wild with fresh dread.
"My king," she gasped, "I have seen what waits beyond the marsh. New powers stir. I felt them in the Widow's final curse — something woke when she died."
Aldric turned to her, jaw tightening.
"Speak plainly," he ordered.
Maerlyn looked out toward the endless marsh, where the water lay still and deceptively gentle.
"Beyond the Widow," she whispered, "there is a deeper darkness. Older than her. Older than Frostfang itself. And it is coming."
---
Aldric closed his eyes. The weight of that news nearly broke him.
But when he opened them again, they burned with new resolve.
"Then we will stand," he said softly, "as many times as we must."
Kaelin looked at him with a pride she could not fully speak, and nodded.
Rowena, arriving just then with a small loaf of bread for them, smiled through her tears.
"We stand," she echoed.
---
Below, the people of Frostfang buried their dead.
And above them, unseen, something ancient shifted in the darkness, coiling through the mists of the marsh. It tasted the Widow's death, felt the cracks left in the world's magic, and began to move.
No eyes marked its shape. No name carried its whisper. But its hunger was old and endless, and it had waited for a long, long time.
The wind shifted, carrying a promise of fresh horror.
Frostfang had won its battle — but the war was only just beginning.