The aftermath was not what anyone expected.
There was no celebration. No triumphant howl. No cheering army raising crystal weapons to a restored sky. The alliance stood in the field — wolves and vampires and witches and fae, four species, two thousand beings — and they were quiet. The quiet of people who had just witnessed something that exceeded their capacity for response. The quiet of a world that had changed shape while they were watching and hadn't finished settling into its new form.
Malachar was contained — not imprisoned, not sealed, but attended. Aelindra and a circle of fae elders surrounded the fallen warlock, their markings flowing in patterns that Arvella recognized as healing configurations — the geometric language of fae medicine, the relational magic being applied to a wo
