The ruins of Blackridge Fortress still smoldered when Selene returned at dawn. Smoke coiled from the shattered towers like dying serpents, drifting across the broken walls and the corpses the night had not yet claimed. Her soldiers moved quietly among the fallen, retrieving weapons, covering bodies, whispering names of those they recognized. Victory had been won—but victory always bled.
Selene dismounted at the courtyard arch, boots sinking into mud that was more red than brown. The morning fog clung to the ground like a second skin, swallowing sound, swallowing breath. Every step felt heavier than the last.
Her captain joined her, his face drawn. "The fires are out, Commander. The rebels who survived are in chains. We lost thirty-three men."
Selene's throat tightened. "Make sure their families are told. No soldier should vanish without a name."
He hesitated. "And Corvus?"
