Dawn broke gently across the Groshla Sanctum, casting pale blue light over broken towers and scorched parapets. The air smelled of wet stone and fading embers. For the first time in what felt like ages, the land wasn't cloaked in tension, but something softer, steadier. Something like peace.
Ethan stood on the highest terrace, his arms folded as he looked over the Sanctum. What had once been a proud bastion of the Dragonkin now resembled a humbled ruin with flickering torches and fresh banners bearing no symbol yet. The banners were placeholders, cloth dyed in violet to reflect the Rune Stone's color, and the growing whispers of a new dominion.
Below, the morning buzz had already begun. Members of the scouting group were organizing supplies, repurposing what they could from the armory. Dragonkin inhabitants—now unarmed and docile—watched quietly from their barracks, still dazed by the events of the day prior.
