The chill of the night hung heavily over Neryth as Daniel and Mira settled into the safehouse. The mission had been grueling, and though the destruction of the Pact's outpost was a victory, the toll it had taken on their bodies and minds weighed heavily.
Rhael stood near the war room, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the map-strewn table. The other members of the Obsidian Ward bustled around him, their focus shifting from one pressing issue to the next. Despite the apparent chaos, there was a method to their madness, a rhythm that spoke of experience and determination.
Daniel slumped into a chair, his fins aching and his system flickering with residual warnings. Mira leaned against a wall nearby, her arms crossed as she observed the group.
"You look like you've been through a meat grinder," came a voice from behind them.
