The ringing in their ears hadn't faded. Even when the shattered pillar let out its final groan and toppled sideways with a splash, the sound arrived as though muffled by cotton. Sulphur clung to every breath, prickling nostrils and burning the back of throats. A briny haze rolled off the river in low curls, meeting the smoke and filling the valley with a taste like rusted coins left too long in seawater. Somewhere overhead a shard of broken glyph-stone still glowed cherry-red; drops of rain hissed to steam before they could cool it.
Sylvanna forced her boots through the slurry of silt and shattered runes until she reached the youngest scout. The boy's knees trembled, more from shock than pain. She pressed two fingers to the pulse at his neck— fast, but strong— then tugged the blood-damp wrap tighter around his arm.
"Easy," she said, pitching her voice soft enough to slip past the ringing. "Stings now, saves you later."
