The faint light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting long shadows across the battlefield. Aiden sat atop a crumbled wall, his sword resting across his knees as he surveyed the aftermath. The stench of burnt flesh and scorched earth lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet groans of the wounded.
Elara approached him, her steps hesitant. She carried a water flask, her own exhaustion evident in her hunched shoulders and the dark circles beneath her eyes. Without a word, she handed him the flask.
"Thanks," Aiden muttered, taking a long drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You should rest," Elara said, her voice quiet but firm.
Aiden shook his head. "I can't. Not yet."
Elara sighed, her frustration evident. "You're no good to us like this. You can barely stand, and the soldiers need to see their leader isn't about to collapse."