Now, I march alongside the brave knights of the Kingdom of Braveheart and the royal mages of Solara, heading back home — back to Braveheart. Our mission: to report the outcome of the battle, tend to our wounds, and await the decisions of King Aslan regarding what must come next.
The journey was slow and heavy.
Our troops were still reeling — not only in body, but in spirit. We were forced to stop often, to let them rest. The fatigue went deeper than muscle and bone. It dug into the soul. No healing spell, no restoration chant could mend the weight in their hearts. This… was the kind of wound that only time could hope to heal.
I rode in a carriage with my fellow heroes: Cain, Theresia, and Magi Silvanya. With us were Princess Aria and the Patriarch, both lying unconscious — caught in the fragile border between life and death.
