Chapter 49. The Tamed Storm

The battlefield smelled not of blood or sweat but of ash and drenched stone, as though sky-high flames and sudden downpours had teamed up to scrub every surface clean while leaving behind only that peculiar, smoky dampness. Blood had already dried into dull streaks along cracked pavement.

The long-vanished sweat had nothing left to offer now that the heat itself had collapsed in exhaustion. What remained was the quiet tang of something sacred burned, buried, and unwilling to be fully forgotten—an aroma that hovered low in the air, waiting for any wandering nose to catch its whisper.

Where once a pack of wolves had raged, now there was only empty space—even the surviving beasts had dispersed: some limped away on uneven paws, others were gently carried by their human allies, and a few simply melted back into the forest as though the war’s violence had evaporated from their fur like a fever leaving the body. No horn sounded an end. No banners drooped to signal a cease-fire