Aragon stood amidst the scattered bodies, a surreal tableau of violence and chaos. The onlookers, including the young prince and Elizleta, gazed at him with wide-eyed fear etched across their faces. Ozeln himself was frozen in a state of utter shock, his eyes fixed on Aragon. Even the soldiers, their weapons now lowered, were transfixed, their expressions a mix of bewilderment and awe.
Sheathing his sword, Aragon shook his hands and attempted to rid his hands of the lingering bloodstains, a physical manifestation of the turmoil that had unfolded. With each step, he retraced his path back towards his horse, his gaze never faltering despite the weight of the moment.
