Trinity of Magic

Zeke blinked, processing the words as Frost's revelation settled in. His hands paused mid-motion, still clutching the shoulder of the next warrior in line.

"Retreated?" he echoed, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and cautious curiosity.

Frost nodded firmly, the earlier gloom gone. His posture sagged with relief, as if the weight of those words had drained the tension from his body. "Yes. They retreated. Our frontline held strong, thanks to your... tactics."

Zeke straightened, scanning the room with renewed focus. The constant buzz of combat he'd heard in the distance had indeed faded, replaced by a stunned quiet. His awareness stretched outward, reaching for the battlefield. What he felt was undeniable—the enemy's presence was dwindling, their numbers scattering into the area beyond his reach.

Zeke let go of the patient whose shoulder he was still grasping. He had been too focused on his task, not paying any attention to the battle. This was not a good look, especially for the commander. He quickly put on a serious expression and nodded back at Frost.

"I'm well aware," he said, subtly scanning the area to assess the current situation. "We should address the men. Will you join me?"

Frost agreed without hesitation, and together they made their way to the spot where Zeke had previously spoken. As the soldiers saw him approach—with their former commander by his side no less—the crowd immediately fell silent, waiting expectantly.

Zeke stepped up beside Frost, surveying the gathered crowd in silence. What he saw was no longer the disheartened group of desperate survivors from hours ago, but a well-organized fighting force, their eyes burning with determination.