A New Dawn

The dust had settled, but the air still thrummed with an unseen energy, a phantom echo of the forces unleashed. Stephen lay on his back, the rough concrete cool against his sweat-slicked skin. His muscles screamed in protest, a symphony of exhaustion and the lingering ache of exertion. Above him, the night sky was a bruised canvas, stars tentatively pricking through the fading twilight. It was over. Or, at least, *that* part of it was over.

He pushed himself up, his head swimming. Debris was scattered everywhere – shattered glass glinted like fallen stars, twisted metal writhed like wounded serpents, and the acrid smell of ozone hung heavy. Beside him, Crimson stirred. He was a disheveled silhouette against the dim light, his usual sharp edges softened by weariness. There was a stillness about him now, a quietude that was more unnerving than his usual tempestuous fury.

"Crimson?" Stephen’s voice was a rough rasp.