Morrika wiped the blood from her mouth, her body covered in wounds, but her eyes still burned with unyielding determination.
They had fought. They had bled. And now, only half of their force remained.
The battlefield was silent, but not in peace—only loss and despair lingered in the air. Bodies of fallen warriors lay scattered across the corrupted land, their lifeless eyes staring at the crimson sky, their blood mixing with the rotting flesh of the ground beneath.
The survivors stood slumped, their breaths ragged, their souls heavy with the weight of the slaughter.
Friends were lost.
Brothers and sisters had died.
And yet… there was still no sign of Fenrir.
A creeping doubt began to set in. Had this all been for nothing?
A deep rage burned within Morrika's heart.
Her people had followed her blindly, believing in her trust. But now? She had led them to their deaths, and she wasn't even sure if what Arthur had told her was real.
