The ridge fell away beneath their boots, turning into a bone-breaking slope of rock and tangled roots. Gravity pulled them forward, faster than they wanted, but the enemy drove them faster still.
Arrows hissed down like rain. The fourth force's skirmishers sprinted along the slopes parallel to them, cutting in and out of the trees. Dark Elf riders had found a way around and were closing from below. And behind, the black-armored titans advanced in a silent, crushing wave.
Skyling was their eyes. Every flick of her wings sent the Codex's map in Eliakim's mind shifting — enemy clusters, choke points, ambush lines. He called each maneuver with precision born of desperation.
"Left! Into the gully — Gideon, clear it!"
Twin blades flashed, frost and fire splitting the slope in a shockwave, scattering the first rank of Elves. Ezra's magic detonated just beyond, a searing cone of chaos that burned too close to Caleb's position.
"Watch it!" Caleb shouted, loosing arrows through the smoke, each one finding a neck or joint.
And then Vaeryn glanced up.
His gaze tracked Skyling, darting in and out of cloud, her feathers catching the moonlight. For a moment, his expression was unreadable — calculating — before his hand dipped under his cloak.
A knife flashed.
It spun end over end, whispering through the wind, a streak meant to vanish in the chaos.
Eliakim didn't see the throw — but he felt it, a cold flicker in his gut. His eyes snapped upward in time to see Skyling veer sharply, a single feather spinning away, the blade missing her heart by inches. She let out a sharp, pained cry but stayed airborne.
Vaeryn was already cutting down a Dark Elf at Liora's side, the picture of loyalty. No one else noticed.
The slope steepened. Rocks tumbled. Enemy screams blended with the roar of the river now audible below — fast, furious, a silver ribbon cutting through the moonlit valley. But the crossing was choked with enemies — Dark Elves in loose ranks, fourth force archers behind them, and black-armored titans pushing from the other side.
"There's no gap," Caleb said, panting as he loosed two arrows in quick succession.
"There will be," Eliakim said, blade tightening in his grip.
Ezra stepped forward, eyes blazing. "Clear me a line, and I'll give you a gap they'll remember."
"Not too close to us this time," Gideon muttered.
They charged, breaking formation only to dodge death. Vaeryn's knives sang ahead, opening paths and — when Eliakim looked — sometimes closing them just as quickly.
The water was closer now, the moon reflecting on its racing surface.
Every step bled into the next, and the world shrank to the sound of boots, steel, and the rushing current that promised either escape… or a watery grave.