The echoes of Gorrath's defeat still reverberated through the Shadowhold Fortress, yet there was no time for respite. Ashen stood in the blood-soaked halls, his breaths ragged, eyes scanning the eerie corridors ahead. Pyro stood beside him, his massive Zweihander resting on his shoulder, its blade stained with the essence of the countless enemies they had felled.
Behind them lay the fallen bodies of Elyndra, Aric, and Lyria, their forms dissipating into the void. Ashen watched as their figures flickered and vanished, their essence returning to the respawn points far from the fortress.
"We weren't strong enough…" Ashen muttered under his breath.
"Don't blame them," Pyro rumbled, his voice a low growl. "They fought well. This place...it's cursed."
Ashen clenched his fists, the weight of leadership bearing down on him. He couldn't deny Pyro's words, but it didn't lessen the sting of losing his comrades.
