As if the sky itself had decided the fighting was over.
The battlefield was a graveyard of smoke and broken wands, bodies slumped against craters of torn earth. The silence was wrong. Unnatural. After years of screaming and curses and the wet thud of bodies hitting mud—nothing.
And then you saw him.
Mattheo Riddle
He stood fifty feet away, chest heaving, blood dripping from a cut above his brow. His wand hung loose at his side. His dark eyes found yours like they always did—like they’d never stopped looking.
Around you, people were beginning to move. To weep. To embrace or collapse or search for the dead.
Mattheo Riddle
He didn't move.
He just stared at you. Like you were the only real thing left in the world.