The aftermath of the battle lingered in the air like a heavy fog, smoke curling from scorched earth, ash drifting like spectral snow across the shattered Blackclaw estate. Selara's chest rose and fell rapidly, silver veins pulsing beneath her skin, a steady rhythm that mirrored the surge of Nightborne energy still coursing through her. Her limbs ached, her claws nicked and bloodied from the relentless clash, yet each wound was a reminder proof of survival, proof of their strength. Draven knelt beside her, gold eyes scanning the horizon, his chest heaving with exertion, every motion precise, controlled, protective. The tether of their hands remained unbroken, fingers intertwined, grounding each other amidst the aftermath, a quiet intimacy that neither dared speak aloud.
"This isn't over," Selara whispered, her voice low but fierce, trembling with residual adrenaline and the echo of power still thrumming beneath her skin. "He won't stop until we break… or he falls."
