The night after the battle was a heavy, oppressive silence.
The battlefield had been cleared, the graves dug, and the wounded tended to in the makeshift medical station near the outpost. The air carried the lingering scent of blood, sweat, and something more bitter—the acrid stench of burned bone and abyssal ichor.
Yet despite all this, the camp remained shrouded in darkness.
Kalem stood near the center of the encampment, glancing around at the unlit fire pits and darkened lanterns. The usual warmth of a post-battle bonfire was absent. The only sources of light came from the few torches still clutched by the night watch and the dim glow of the stars above.
"Why is there no fire?" Kalem finally asked, breaking the quiet.
"All the people are busy with the injured," Garron answered, his voice tired.
Kalem glanced toward the medical station. The healers and field medics moved like shadows, their hands and clothes stained dark with blood and antiseptic oils. The wounded lay on stretchers or against supply crates, their groans blending into the whispering wind.
The sight made Kalem's fingers tighten slightly around his belt.
"Are you still angry?" he asked without looking at Garron.
"A bit," Garron admitted, folding his arms. "I still don't like your analysis."
Kalem hummed in acknowledgment but didn't press further.
Instead, Garron's gaze drifted downward, catching sight of the small canister in Kalem's hand.
"What is that?" Garron's tone shifted, now tinged with suspicion.
"Nothing," Kalem said, too quickly.
"Kalem," Garron's brow twitched.
Kalem sighed. "It's a sample of the ichor."
Garron visibly tensed. "First thing—how?"
Kalem smirked. "Remember that Darium you bought for me as part of the bet?"
Garron's expression darkened. "Yeah…?"
"That, and some water-attribute runes, helped me seal the sample safely," Kalem explained, shaking the canister slightly. The black liquid inside barely moved, held in place by the enchantments. "It's not active. Just contained."
Garron exhaled sharply and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know whether to call you brilliant or a damned fool."
Kalem merely shrugged before leading Onyx, his armored bull, toward his cart. He carefully placed the canister inside, securing it with a thick cloth before shutting the crate.
Garron watched warily but didn't stop him.
Kalem stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders. His body ached from the long battle, but he pushed past the fatigue.
"Let's do something about the lack of lights," he said.
Garron frowned. "Like what?"
Kalem didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his cart, shifting around some supplies before pulling out a long, broad sword. The Burnt Blade.
Garron immediately recognized it.
"That thing again?" he muttered.
Kalem smirked, holding it up. "Two weeks ago, I was using this to burn monsters. Now? Looks like I'll be using it to light up the camp."
Before Garron could respond, Kalem channeled mana into the sword.
A deep red glow pulsed through the blade's surface, and in the next instant—
Flames erupted.
The blade roared to life, its edges covered in a vibrant, flickering fire, illuminating Kalem's face with an orange glow.
"Let's get to work," Kalem said, turning toward the first unlit fire pit.
He brought the Burnt Blade down, lightly striking the pile of wood. In seconds, the dry logs caught fire, and warmth spread through the cold night air.
One by one, Kalem went around the camp, lighting lamps, torches, and fire pits.
As the flames spread, the darkness receded.
Soldiers paused in their tasks, their weary eyes following the trail of newly lit fires as Kalem moved through the encampment.
Some murmured in appreciation. Others, still wrapped in the weight of the battle, simply watched in silence.
Even Garron, despite his earlier irritation, found himself relaxing slightly as the warmth returned to the camp.
After finishing his task, Kalem finally sheathed the Burnt Blade. He stepped back, glancing at the now illuminated camp.
The fires crackled softly, their glow chasing away the shadows that had threatened to consume them after the battle.
Nearby, some soldiers sat around a small fire, quietly eating their rations. Others rested against supply crates, their exhaustion etched into their faces.
For the first time since the fight, things felt… calmer.
Garron sighed. "Well. I guess you did something useful."
Kalem smirked. "You sound surprised."
Garron scoffed. "Just don't start another weird experiment with that ichor."
Kalem's smirk widened slightly but said nothing.
As the firelight flickered, Garron shook his head.
"Get some rest," he muttered. "Tomorrow's gonna be just as rough."
Kalem glanced up at the night sky, the stars barely visible through the haze of battle-smoke.
"Yeah," he murmured.
Tomorrow, the war would continue.
But tonight?
Tonight, they had fire.