4:32
The timer ticks on, glowing a little brighter now with each passing second. The runes ripple faintly across the monolith's surface—like it's waking up.
Alix watches it without blinking, arms still folded.
Behind him, the air stirs.
Boots stomp on stone. Armored figures emerge from the misted pathways like ghosts returning from battle. Some drag wounded behind them. Others limp. Many come alone.
Ember Claw reinforcements arrive slowly—but not proudly. No cheers. No relief. Just silence and tired eyes.
Among them, the Ember Claw commanders begin to appear.
The tall, broad figure of Commander Brakar steps into the clearing with a small cluster of battered soldiers behind him. His red pauldrons are cracked, one arm wrapped tightly in makeshift bandages. There's a faint burn scar trailing across one side of his cheek.
Lathar notices him first.
He straightens, instinctively squaring his shoulders—expecting some kind of jab.
