The sun rose slowly.
The dim light of Ruya and Siamon retreated, and a golden hue began spreading from the edge of the sky. The reddish glow slowly slid over the ruined village. Places that had appeared terrifying in the night now seemed ordinary—but this ordinariness was a lie.
The streets were still silent. The air was still cold, yet that strange pressure in the peace could be felt.
The bodies were in the same places.
Only the colors had changed—the darkness had been replaced by sunlight, and the blood was no longer red, having taken on a dull brown hue. The open doors of the houses did not move even without wind, as if this place itself had forgotten how to breathe.
Zaber slowly stood up. When he stepped on the dry ground, small stones crunched under his feet. He walked quietly, with neither haste nor hesitation in his steps.
His clothes were covered in dried blood, traces of last night's torment remained on his body. But his face—was strangely calm.
He stopped.
