One of the Ember Claw commanders—an older mage with jagged horns and burn-scored robes—steps forward quickly.
"Don't ask questions now," he barks. "Heal them first. They look like they're about to die."
The order cuts through the rising panic like a blade. Without hesitation, nearby mages drop to their knees, channeling pale green and golden light into the fallen. One Ember Claw survivor spasms as ribs knit audibly beneath his skin. Another begins to breathe again, shallow and fast, but alive.
Alix steps back slightly, letting the healers do their work. Lathar kneels beside one of the more conscious survivors—a lean, lizard-like fighter with his armor shredded and one eye swollen shut.
He speaks quietly. "What happened in there?"
The soldier coughs, blood flecking his chin. His voice is raw. "Forest… it dropped us in a forest. Couldn't see the edge. Damp. Too quiet."
Lathar doesn't interrupt. He waits.
