Fortia, Maisara, Zerus and Sceo returned to the quiet Pantheon. Cold bodies, dour men, heavy stretchers. Charred marble, sullen magicians, shifting stones. Stolen texts, bleak archivists, tapping checklists. Remorseless sun, still winds, red streets.
Mountain, silent.
Neneria sighed as she looked out over the horde of masses that had come to Central Requisitions. It was over. They had officially won the war at this point, the Pantheon simply hadn't announced a statement yet, but it was over. Their armies were retreating, Neneria herself had attacked them at Olympiada, Iliyal had freed the weapon Divines, they were being handed out to the Epan Governments now. Neneria sighed as she looked at the setting sun. That was a far prettier sight than the throngs of people Arascus had invited.
