The days passed like drifting ash—silent, weighty, smothering. The aftermath of vengeance tasted bitter on every tongue in the alliance. The air in the main camp crackled with tension, not relief. They had struck back, yes. But the war was just beginning.
Aria sat at the war table, fingers laced tightly. The map before her had become a battlefield in its own right. Pushpins. Notes. Marked territory. Blood had stained the original parchment, and none of them had bothered to replace it. It was fitting.
Kael entered the tent, his armor freshly cleaned but his eyes weary. "Reports came in from the eastern flank. More of Ronan's scouts pushing too close. He's baiting us."
"Let him," Aria said without looking up. "We want him to think we're scattered."
Kael crossed his arms, leaning against the support beam. "He's not an idiot, Aria. He's cruel, calculating. But if he senses even the smallest weakness—"
"Then we'll show him strength where he least expects it."
