Smoke crawled through the Stonefang Quarter like a living thing.
It clung to broken roofs and blackened walls. It slid over the snow and made the morning light look… dirty.
The smell was worse, burnt hide, scorched wood, and… blood.
Blood so fresh it still steamed when it hit the cold ground.
And yet…
People moved.
They moved together.
For the first time in the long history, Velmourn hands and Stonefang hands grabbed the same rubble without flinching.
A Velmourn soldier lifted a heavy stone slab while a Stonefang warrior shoved his shoulder under it. Their eyes met once, they nodded at each other, then they looked away and lifted again.
There were no insults, no pride, no useless hate.
A Stonefang youth carried an elder with trembling arms, and a Velmourn archer walked beside him, holding the elder's head steady so his neck wouldn't bend wrong.
