For a long while, no one spoke.
The silence that followed wasn't peace. It was the heavy kind, stretched taut across the battlefield like the skin of a war drum. The air still vibrated with echoes, though the sounds had already passed. And at the heart of it stood Koda, twin blades dripping with pale ash, his breath drawn slow and measured.
Where the rift had torn itself open—where the Lich had clawed its way through a door that shouldn't have existed—there was now nothing. Not rubble. Not dust. Nothing.
Just a patch of ground where the earth had been seared glass-smooth, curved inward like a drained bowl.
The scar was closed.
And not from within.
Seta was the first to move. Her steps were cautious, eyes still scanning the edges of the field like it might all restart again. The skeletal remains of the massive bone colossus had gone brittle, no longer thrumming with unholy direction. It had collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut—disconnected, no longer sustained.
"Gone," she muttered. "Not just sealed. Cut off."
Renn and Eno were leaning on each other, bruised and grim but breathing. Terron stood silent at the back of the group, a shallow gash across his forehead caked with drying blood, his warhammer buried half-deep in the ribcage of some now-lifeless amalgam. Elise crouched near the edge of the battlefield, checking for motion—there was none.
And Maia, eyes wide but steady, crossed to Koda without a word. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder. He didn't flinch. She didn't ask if he was alright. They both knew the answer didn't matter.
Instead, she whispered, "That wasn't just a dungeon."
Koda nodded once, blades still in his hands. The metal hadn't dulled. If anything, it looked sharper now.
"No," he said. "That was something else trying to wear a dungeon's skin."
The wind shifted, dry and heavy with the scent of disturbed bone. The sunlight had begun to return in full, as if the sky had been holding its breath too, waiting to see how it would end.
Koda turned, finally sliding the blades into place against his back. The weight felt different now—settled, owned. A reflection of the thing he'd become.
But the question pressed, unspoken, on every face around him.
What now?
He glanced over the ruin once more, the echo of the system prompt still lingering at the edge of his vision. A Shard. A system he still didn't understand, rewriting itself in real time.
He'd driven his blade through the Lich's heart.
And something older than the Lich had screamed.
"We keep moving," he said, voice flat but sure. "We were never meant to stop here."
Behind him, the others stirred—fatigue settling in, but a purpose slowly reigniting in their limbs.
Whatever they had just survived, it wasn't the end.
It was the beginning of something far worse.
——
The sun had barely crested the low horizon when the sound of creaking wood broke the morning stillness. The cart—scarred by battle, half-covered in soot and dried blood—lurched forward once more, its wheels groaning in protest. No mules led it now.
Terron grunted under the strain of the yoke lashed around his shoulders, broad back straining with each uneven step. Beside him, Koda moved in silence, the harness tied tighter across his chest. The two warriors pulled together as the weight of the cart dug deep into the earth behind them.
It was slow going. The terrain had become harsher, more wild. Each ridge came with more resistance, each mile a reminder of what they'd survived—and what they'd lost.
Behind them, the others walked lightly, taking turns helping redistribute gear to ease the load. No one complained.
Seta kept a wary eye to the sky, her arcane-connected construct scanning distant terrain in broad arcs. Elise ranged farther ahead, her steps silent in the underbrush, always scouting for signs of threats—or the mercy of a nearby road.
Maia's pace was slower than usual, one hand still pressed to a healing poultice at her ribs, but her eyes remained clear. Focused. She offered no protest when Renn offered to carry her pack for a few hours. Even she knew they couldn't afford pride out here.
Eno had taken the role of rear guard, bow always half-raised, eyes darting to any shift in the grass or wind. The way the bones had stirred… no one trusted silence anymore.
They hadn't spoken much since the Lich fell.
And now, without the mules, the idea of rest was a fading memory. The cart could no longer be used for shifts of sleep. It carried only gear now—essential provisions, tools, weapons, what little remains of their medical supplies. The cost of survival.
They were still days from Blount.
And they would need to make it. Blount was the nearest sanctuary city, the only place in this stretch of the wilds where they could hope to resupply, to find new livestock, to let their wounds breathe for more than a single night. They didn't know if the city would welcome them.
But they had no other choice.
The morning passed in quiet misery, footsteps dragging over coarse rock and windblown trail. Around them, the hills rose sharper now, the trees denser—sheltering and ominous all at once.
When they finally stopped to rest under the hollow of a low cliff, the group slumped down like shadows folding into themselves. No fire. Just ration packs and water, passed around in silence.
"We make Blount in three, maybe four days," Terron muttered through clenched teeth, rubbing his shoulder raw where the yoke had bitten deep.
"Three if we push," Koda said, his voice a hoarse edge. He didn't look at the others. "We can't afford another fight like the last."
No one argued.
There was still too much they didn't understand—about the Lich, about the shard, about what they had interrupted. But the mission hadn't changed.
They had to reach the capital.
And first, they had to survive the road to Blount.
——
The next four days passed in a slow, grinding blur. Time lost meaning as sweat and strain became the rhythm of their march. Each day bled into the next with the same palette: the creak of the cart, the dull thud of boots against hardened soil, the groan of leather straps tightening over sore shoulders.
Day one had been the worst—nothing but brush, uneven hills, and the constant tension of eyes scanning the treeline. The wilds were quiet, too quiet. They moved with caution, sleep stolen in short shifts, their bodies aching and half-alert at every rustling branch or distant cry.
On the second day, they found the road.
It was cracked and ancient, half-swallowed by time, but it was a road all the same. Stone beneath their feet, old markers jutting like crooked teeth from the dirt. Relief settled over the group like a welcome breeze. Pulling the cart became bearable. Spirits lifted—slightly.
A skirmish on day three reminded them not to get too comfortable. A pack of lowland maws—slim, hungry creatures with knifelike jaws—had lunged at them from the underbrush just past midday. The battle was quick, messy. Elise's leg was grazed, and one of the bowstrings snapped under pressure, but the group held firm. Quick regrouping. A little blood. No one down.
By day four, their stride was automatic.
The wounds still stung, the fatigue never left—but they had found rhythm. Even laughter returned in quiet bursts. Eno and Renn began counting how many winged insects Seta's drone had swatted out of the air mid-flight. Maia hummed while preparing poultices. Terron muttered prayers under his breath, strange old ones from his clan, half to the Guide, half to the earth.
And then, near midday, the horizon shifted.
Blount rose from the plains like a promise.
Walls of sandstone and slate, worn but strong, stood in a half-circle against the backdrop of rising hills. The city's silhouette was not one of towering spires or grand gates—it was functional, shaped for defense more than display, but even from a distance it felt secure. Smoke curled gently from chimneys. A wagon rolled along the outer road. Guards watched from the walls.
The cart slowed as the group gathered near the crest of a hill. No one spoke.
But the weight eased.
Koda shifted the yoke from his shoulders and stood straighter, stretching his neck as his eyes locked onto the distant gates. Beside him, Terron exhaled deeply and dropped one hand to his thigh, rolling out the tension with a quiet grunt.
Maia stepped up beside Koda, hand brushing lightly against his, her voice soft and steady. "We made it."
The group stood like that for a long moment—dust-covered, blood-marked, shoulders sore and eyes tired.
But Blount was in sight.
And for the first time in what felt like weeks, their steps felt lighter as they began the final descent.