Monar regretted it, from the bottom of his heart. It was a silent, deep pain that needed no words to be felt. Truly, even if he died trying, he wanted his friends to make it out alive.
It was ironic that the only one who hadn't been "killed" was him.
He lowered his gaze and, in pain, let his first tears fall in a long time. They slid slowly down his cheeks, carrying away dirt, dried blood, and the weight of exhaustion. When they hit the ground, they mixed with the ash and vanished as if they had never existed.
He prayed for this to end, so he simply didn't move anymore. His muscles, tense for so long, finally gave in to a resigned stillness.
The princess approached him and raised her sword. Her silhouette, illuminated by the faint glow of crystal and drifting embers, seemed even more imposing.
But suddenly, an explosion of ash blasted everything backward.
