The early morning sun cast a soft, warm glow over New Haven, filtering through the trees and illuminating the aftermath of the previous night's battle. The townspeople moved quietly, cleaning up debris and gathering the remains of the undead to burn. The festival decorations hung limply, some torn or smeared with dirt, but there was a sense of resilience in the air, a quiet determination to carry on.
George walked through the square, greeting those he passed with a nod and a word of encouragement. He could see the fatigue in their eyes, the lingering fear that haunted them after Lady Elara's assault. But he also saw strength, a strength that kept them going, even when the darkness tried to swallow them whole.
