Thorne leaned against the windowsill, eyes scanning the ruined skyline of Veyron. "I was lucky," he muttered. "Managed to find a few soldiers still breathing. And horses, thank the stars. If we'd even tried to go back for the nobles in the castle, it would've been suicide."
"Yeah, horrible," Ravik agreed, shaking his head. "And say you did pull it off, rescued some duke or a royal brat—what then? They start twitching mid-ride, turn into one of those rot-hounds with a crown on their head? That'd be the end of you. And us."
Cael, seated on a stool with his arms resting on his knees, added, "Maybe that's why we're still standing. You beastkin—don't rely on magic like mages. And us soldiers? Barely used any magic or enchanted gear back then. Just steel and instinct."
Then he paused, eyes going wide for a moment. "Wait... potions. Aren't those cast with magic to work better? If the infection is in the mana, wouldn't that make potions useless? Or worse—dangerous?"
Thorne frowned. "Good point. I guess we'll find out... Not like any of us have potions left anyway."
Right then, the door slammed open.
A soldier, panting hard, stood there. "Sir! We've spotted a wave of the infected headed this way. Heavy numbers. Two mages—one looks average, the other's got the robe of a higher rank. Loads of undead soldiers. And... six beastkin in full native form. Big ones. Feral."
Thorne straightened immediately. "Damn it. That's worse than I thought. We can't hold this place—not with that much coming."
"We're leaving?" Reva asked, tightening her gauntlet straps.
"We have to," Thorne replied. "Guild building's our best bet. They've fortified the halls, and they've got people. Numbers might buy us time."
"Hope they let us in," Nyric muttered.
They didn't waste a second more. Orders flew. Soldiers who could still run moved out first, a few of the wounded lifted onto horses. Cael, still pale and quiet, was helped up by Torric.
"You alright?" Ravik asked, walking beside them, eyes darting between rooftops and shadows. "You're not gonna drop off again, are you?"
Cael looked down, face drawn. "Ahh... yeah. Just… tired, that's all."
Ravik narrowed his eyes. "Or is it the shame of being carried like a baby?"
Cael scowled, half-laughing. "Maybe. Shut up."
Torric grunted, amused. "You're heavier than you look."
Cael sighed. "Sorry."
"You saved my hide once in the war," Torric replied, "I'll call it even."
Their pace picked up. Behind them, distant screams and the dull thump of marching feet echoed through the alleys.
The rot was closing in again.
And this time, it was coming with power.