Third Person POV
The silence came slowly.
Not all at once—not as a sudden absence of sound—but in layers, like the world cautiously testing whether it was finally safe to breathe again.
Steel stopped ringing. Orders ceased. The distant clash at the border faded into memory as horns signaled retreat and surrender. Even the storm above seemed to recognize the end, rain easing from a relentless downpour to a quiet, steady fall that washed blood from stone and soot from walls.
The packhouse stood scarred and broken, but standing.
Bodies lay where they had fallen, rogues and warriors alike, the cost of the night written plainly in blood and ruin. Survivors moved carefully now, as if any sudden motion might shatter what little peace remained.
Healers arrived in waves.
