A faint breeze stirred the dust across the broken battlefield. Rubble shifted. Blood dried slowly under fractured moonlight above. The air hung thick with the scent of scorched stone, charred lightning, and the metallic tang of spilled blood. In the silence that followed Keith's defiant words, Elius stood still, gazing at the four people before him—not as enemies, not as threats, but as… disappointments.
He sighed. Deeply. Not in frustration, not even in pain. It was more like a father watching four children play with knives and wondering where it all went wrong.
And then, he said it.
"Let's talk."
The voice was calm, cold, but not cruel. It echoed through the ruins like the whisper of a judge about to read the final verdict.
