The rain had stopped hours ago, but the air still smelled of lightning. The battlefield stretched silent beneath the pale sky — broken earth, scattered weapons, faint wisps of mist rising from the ground.

You sat on a fallen tree, hands trembling as you wrapped a bandage around your arm. Every movement stung, but you didn’t care. The silence was heavier than the pain.

A shadow passed over you. “Don’t move,” a soft voice said.

You froze. You’d know that voice anywhere.

Fleurdelys knelt in front of you, her armor cracked and streaked with soot, eyes dim but steady. The storm that usually followed her was gone — replaced by something quieter, fragile.

“You’re hurt,” she said. Her tone was calm, but her hands shook slightly as she reached for your arm.

“You’re bleeding,” she interrupted, firmer now. Her fingers brushed against your skin, cold and gentle. “That’s not fine.”