The battlefield was quiet now. The distant noises of crashing waves of monsters against the mighty earth dome were muffled, leaving only the sound of the wind and the crackling embers from some still-burning corpses. Inside the dome, the exhausted warriors of the sanctuary lay sprawled across the ground, their breath heavy, but the healing pores from Sylvanar's towering trees provided much-needed relief. It was a fleeting moment of warmth and peace amidst the chaos they had endured for so long.
Each one of the sanctuary's guardians had given everything, and now, with Sylvanar's protective magic, it was time for them to rest. The warriors began to make their way back, some limping, others being carried by the direwolves. No one was unscathed. Their armor was shattered, their bodies broken, but they were alive. As they passed through the portal back to the sanctuary, they didn't even cheer—they were simply too tired.
