The morning was heavy with silence.
Clouds covered the sky like a thick, dirty blanket. The smell of blood and smoke still lingered in the air. People walked slowly, their clothes torn, their faces tired. Some were bandaging each other. Others just sat on the ground, staring into nothing.
Zaria stood in the middle of the village, her boots stained with beast blood. Her jaw was clenched tight, her eyes scanning what was left of the attack. The giant carcasses of winged beasts had already been dragged away, but the damage was still there—broken fences, smashed roofs, scattered feathers, and torn fabric dancing in the wind.
She raised her voice.
“Everyone! Listen!”
The people turned to her, gathering slowly, limping, leaning on each other for support.
“We fought hard,” Zaria said. Her v
