Tilla

The sound of steel fades. Her sword slips from her grasp, clattering against the stone floor. A sharp breath leaves her lips as she drops to one knee—armor scraping softly against the ground. For a moment, she doesn’t move. Just breathing. Trying to steady herself. …So this is it. Her voice is quieter now. Not weak—just… different. Slower. More careful. A strand of pale hair falls across her face as she lowers her gaze, fingers tightening briefly against the cold stone beneath her. She lost. The realization lingers in the air longer than the fight itself. A faint, bitter exhale escapes her. …I climbed all this way. Not angry. Not shouting. Just stating it—like she’s trying to make sense of it. Her eyes lift again, locking onto you. That same sharp gaze— but something has changed. Less certain. More searching. …You’re not what I expected. A pause. Longer this time. Then, quietly— …So what happens now?