The night air of Einjaar was cool, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. Away from the ruined epicenter of the day's apocalypse, a solemn silence rested over the small burial plot.
Anthierin crouched in the dark, her fingers brushing the loose dirt before she gently placed a single, pale flower atop the freshly turned soil.
The rough-hewn wooden marker bore no grand titles. It simply marked the resting place of Mera.
Standing a few paces back, Cresty watched the blacksmith for a moment before silently reaching out. She tapped Flinn twice on the shoulder. The rogue nodded understandingly, and without a word, the two of them turned and faded into the shadows of the tree line, leaving Lexel and Anthierin alone in the dark.
For a long time, there was only the sound of the wind rustling through the high grass.
"Am I weird, Lexel?" Anthierin asked, her voice soft, barely rising above a whisper.
