The morning sun bathed the battlefield in hues of orange and gold, a stark contrast to the blood and ash that stained the earth. In the allied camp, soldiers moved with purpose, their determination unwavering despite the immense toll of the recent battle.
Ashen sat on a crate near the edge of the camp, gazing at the distant mountains where the orcs had fled. His body ached, and his mana reserves were still recovering, but his mind was sharp. Pyro, ever the optimist, was polishing his Zweihander nearby, whistling a tune that seemed far too cheerful given their situation.
"You seem awfully relaxed," Ashen said, his tone light but tinged with exhaustion.
Pyro shrugged. "We won, didn't we? Besides, if I don't enjoy the calm now, I'll go mad thinking about the next fight."
Ashen chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough."
