The Aftermath – Planning Our Next Move

For a long moment, none of us spoke.

The ruins were silent once more, save for the faint howling of the wind. The suffocating presence of Ignisar and Siegfried had vanished, but the weight of their words still lingered like a shadow over us.

A month.

That was all the time we had before they made their move.

Before they went after Frostfang.

Before war truly began.

Fafnir's fists trembled at his sides, his claws digging into his palms. He had barely moved since they left, his breathing slow but uneven.

I finally turned toward him. "Fafnir—"

His voice was quiet but sharp. "Did you hear how he spoke?" His golden eyes flickered with an emotion I couldn't place. "So cold. So… certain."

His grip tightened. "That was not the Ignisar I knew."

Zarathorak crossed his arms, his jaw tight. "Because that Ignisar is dead." His tone was harsh, but his expression betrayed something deeper.