The ruined district slowly descended into silence once more.
Not true silence.
Not the peaceful stillness of a sleeping city.
This silence carried the lingering heat of battle, the sharp scent of scorched stone, and the suffocating pressure left behind by powers that did not belong within ordinary human understanding.
Crimson-gold sovereign flames flickered weakly across shattered streets, their brilliance slowly dimming as they consumed the last fragments of debris scattered throughout the battlefield. Broken buildings leaned dangerously to one side, their cracked foundations glowing faintly beneath residual spiritual heat. Fragments of dark-gray suppression formations drifted through the air like dying ashes, dissolving into nothingness beneath the pressure of the sovereign fire.
Cold night wind swept through the district in uneven waves.
Every gust carried smoke.
Dust.
And traces of lingering spiritual intent.
The hidden faction had retreated.
