Strax looked around at the debris, the smell of burnt magic, the blood—physical and ethereal—spattered across the stone floor. The heavy energy in the room was beginning to dissipate, but the tension still lingered, like the taste of iron on his tongue.
He let out a long sigh, ran his hand through his unkempt beard, and spoke in a deep, tired voice: "All right. I need to get out of here. See what's left... and what could be salvaged after the dragon invasion."
Beatrice turned to him with a slightly surprised expression. "Already? And you're going to leave me here with this... thing writhing on the floor?"
Strax smiled and kissed her forehead. "You've survived a lot. I think you can handle Zanith playing the victim for ten minutes. Besides... it's good for you to stay and see what those two are going to do."
Zanith moaned softly, still squeezed against the rubble. "I'm not playing. I am a victim now..."
