Dominus didn't wake.
They carried him to the palace on a stretcher of woven light, Chronara walking beside him, her ancient hands pressed to his chest, feeding what little life force she could spare into his failing body. His scales were dull. His breathing was shallow. The sovereign chains that had sealed Vorthraxx had burned through nearly everything.
"He lives.." Chronara said as they laid him in the throne room. "But he won't wake soon. Perhaps not for days. Perhaps..." She stopped.
No one finished the thought.
Zephron stood at the window, staring at the battlefield below. His injured arm hung at his side, forgotten. "We won...but... Why does it feel like we lost?"
"Because we did lose." Verida's voice was flat. She'd dragged herself from the healing halls despite her wound, despite her grounded wing. "Look at us. Look at what's left."
