The ridge had quieted at last, but the silence was heavy, dense with the weight of what had just transpired, and Deborah, standing atop the jagged stones with Luther at her side, felt the fortress as a living entity trembling beneath her feet, as if the walls themselves had absorbed the chaos of the day and carried it forward in every echo, every shadow. Soldiers moved cautiously, tending to the wounded while keeping their eyes wide, scanning the horizon for the faintest threat, while the northern wind swept across the ridge, sharp and relentless, reminding everyone that danger was not finished, that the consequences of pride and rivalry could not be contained by a single confrontation.Aston and Lysander stood apart, their faces pale from exertion and anger, their eyes still blazing with a heat that had not yet cooled, and though neither spoke, the tension between them was no less present than before, a silent war contained by necessity and Deborah’s authority, but no less capable of
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