The restoration of the Palace was still ongoing as the sun continued its steady climb across the sky. Its warm rays bathed the scarred walls of the Elf Palace, but the light brought little comfort to the people below.
No one had slept since yesterday when the battle had begun, not when it ended, and not now, in the wake of devastation. There was simply too much to do.
The main courtyard was now filled with the wounded and the weary. Cracked stones stained with blood, tents hastily pitched, and the ever-present sound of clinking tools and strained voices filled the air.
There were still comrades buried under rubble of the white wall, still too many who needed healing, still others whose lives had slipped away during the long night.
The stockpiles of healing potions had already run dry. What little remained was rationed only to the most critical cases. The rest — warriors, citizens, even so of the lesser Mages — had to rely on the unyielding work of the healers, who moved from patient to patient without rest.
Their hands glowed with Magic, fingers trembling from exhaustion, yet they pressed on because they had to.
anwhile, the surviving citizens, those who had been kept safe thanks to the soldiers' valiant defense, had joined the effort without being asked.
They cleared debris, gathered the fallen, and helped move the wounded. Their eyes were red, faces drawn, but they worked with the sa urgency and sorrow as the warriors themselves.
The Palace was their ho and they would help rebuild it.
At the edge of the northern part of the Palace, among twisted trees and shattered grounds, King Fairon rode slowly on the back of his Unicorn.
Its hooves stepped carefully between piles of rubble and bodies — most of them not Elves, but monstrous remains of the Ogres and Daemons that had stord the Palace with chanical armor and madness in their eyes.
So of them still wore their exo-suits, massive steel encasings powered by unknown runes that now lay dark and lifeless. Before, they had glowed with unholy Magic, igniting a fury that made them into berserk machines.
But now, the Magic had fled. The runes were no more than faint scratches carved into scorched tal, cold and silent like the corpses they adorned.
King Fairon reined in his mount, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield — not with revulsion but with reflection.
Around him, death lingered like smoke. Yet within that ruin he saw sothing else.
"This is knowledge," he murmured, mostly to himself.
The others may have seen only destruction but to Fairon, this was a revelation. This enemy had used their Magic, but distorted it and twisted it into this kind of thing.
That ant it could be understood. Studied and controlled. Perhaps even used by the Elves to grow stronger, to defend themselves from whatever ca next.
That was the hope burning behind his tired gaze.
He leaned forward slightly, placing a hand on the chest plate of a fallen Ogre warrior. Its armor cracked beneath his touch, revealing fragnts of the rune within.
The language was unfamiliar bur still rooted in principles he recognized.
"If Laston can reshape our Magic into sothing like this…" he whispered, "then so can we, right?"
Behind him, several scouts approached, saluting in silence. They were ready to begin salvaging the enemy suits, loading them onto carts for further study.
King Fairon nodded without turning.
"Preserve so you can load now," he commanded. "Runes, armor, scraps. I want one from every piece."
They moved quickly, obeying without hesitation. The King watched for another long mont then slowly guided his Unicorn toward the Palace again.
The battlefield was quiet now. And though the Palace bore wounds that would take ti to nd, King Fairon can already see hope begun to bloom from the ashes.
---
King Fairon rode past the quiet remnants of battle. But his eyes now don't searched for enemies nor ruins, he was looking for soone. One of the Dragonborns.
It didn't take him long.
Amidst the debris of the collapsed White Wall, a figure moved with startling ease.
Eccar was unmistakable with his towering fra and wings. He stood amid the broken stones, lifting a boulder the size of a wagon as if it weighed nothing.
With a flap of his Dragon wings, he soared high into the air, carried the boulder far over the edge of the palace's outer ring, and hurled it away like a child discarding a toy.
The ground trembled faintly when the boulder landed in the distance, scattering smaller stones on impact.
Eccar descended again with a heavy thud, wings folding behind his back. Without pause, he moved toward the next massive chunk of debris, muscles tensing under cracked scales, hands curling around jagged rock.
King Fairon's unicorn ca to a stop at the edge of the ruins, and the King narrowed his eyes at the Dragonborn. He didn't say anything yet but his gaze was filled with unspoken questions. The kind of questions that weren't easy to answer.
Eccar didn't need to hear them. He could feel them in the way king Fairon looked at him. The weight of his stare. The curiosity, the concern, the suspicion, maybe even the awe.
He sighed.
He didn't want to deal with this now. Talking with a king always ant long conversations. Troubleso, especially when the Palace was still half-broken and there was still so much to clean up.
And honestly he just didn't feel like trying to explain things.
So instead of responding, Eccar simply grunted and turned back to the rubble.
He picked up another boulder.
King Fairon remained still, watching him with a frown.
Then Eccar launched himself into the air once more, wings slicing the air with ease, the boulder in his hands vanishing over the horizon like the one before.
When he landed, his claws scraped against stone, dust flaring up around him. He glanced once at the King and let out another low grunt.
"You're going to keep staring until I talk, aren't you?" Eccar muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to no one.
King Fairon didn't answer imdiately. Only him that will treat a king like him this way. But he can't even do anything to this Dragonborn.
Eccar turned away again, muttering, "Tch… whatever. Ask Erend later. He's better at speeches anyway."
And with that, the Dragonborn stomped off toward the next piece of rubble.
King Fairon sighed, shakes his head, then turned his unicorn away. He will ask Erend now because there's no hope with Eccar.
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