"I heard that," Ardan muttered.
"Good. Now stand up and be supportive."
They all moved slowly. The kind of slow that comes from remembering exactly how many times you almost died yesterday.
Outside, the air stung less. But the smell was worse. Burned leather. Mana scorch. That coppery bite that always came after blood dried in the snow.
Lindarion paused at the inn's door before stepping out to tell Lira.
'This isn't over. Not for them. Not for us. But for today—'
He opened the door.
'—we bury the dead.'
And let the living try to breathe.
—
The village looked smaller in the morning.
Maybe it was the bodies. Maybe it was the smoke still curling from the rooftops. Maybe it was the way no one talked.
Lindarion walked near the back of the group. Not to avoid attention. Not really. Just because it gave him more time to watch.
Ren walked ahead with her arms folded. Not from cold. Just… holding herself together.
