The altar site was already quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that comes after a fight, where dust settles, people breathe again, and the air slowly fills back in with sound.
This was different. Still. Heavy. Like the air itself was holding its breath. Like something unseen was pressing down on everything, keeping even the wind from moving.
The ground was soaked. Mud and moss had turned dark from blood that had already started to thicken.
Some of it had run down in thin lines between roots and stones, sinking deep into the forest floor.
Other patches had dried in place, crusting over the old carvings along the edge of the cracked stone platform at the center of the clearing.
It wasn't a battlefield, not really.
There were no scorch marks. No broken trees. No signs of wild chaos or explosions.
But bodies were everywhere.
