The smoke hung thick in the air, swirling lazily between the crooked rooftops of Celesterra as the morning sun struggled to pierce through the haze. Fires still burned in isolated patches throughout the city, casting an orange glow across the crumbling streets. The battle was over, but the city itself looked like a graveyard for the living, filled with the echoes of screams and the weight of the dead.
James stood in the heart of it all, his armor bloodstained and scorched. His sword rested in the dirt by his side, the weight of it felt heavier than ever. Beside him, Sasha knelt down, tending to one of their injured soldiers, her hands steady despite the exhaustion in her eyes.
"This wasn't a victory," James muttered under his breath. "Not when we lost so much."
