Lord Veythar stepped into view. Tall and lean, he moved with a chilling grace. His bronze-scaled armor shimmered under the glow of the crystals, like a living coil of serpents. His silver eyes, slitted and cold, scanned the cave with quiet menace.
Behind him, eleven warriors fanned out in perfect formation. Five Bronze II fighters pressed the front, heavy and strong, while six Bronze I flanked the sides, ready to strike.
"Kill them. Leave the white-haired one alive."
The command slithered through the cavern, sharp and cold, sinking into the walls and echoing in every corner.
At the entrance, Drael planted his shield and braced himself. Each blow from the Bronze II warriors rang like a hammer against stone, sparks flying in every direction. His voice cut through the clash, firm and loud.
"Who are you, and why do you attack us without cause and what do you want here?" His words were not questions but a calculated delay—buying Karl the precious moments he needed to heal Dren's gravely wounded body.
Karl watched as the tall man smiled a small, cold smile. The man's voice slid through the cave like a snake.
"I am Lord Veythar," he said. "Fang of Ashencoil."
Karl felt the cave grow colder when he heard the name. The crystals seemed to dim for a moment. People shifted where they stood. A tense hush fell over the group. All eyes turned to Karl to see what he would do.
Veythar pointed at the glittering veins in the rock. "What I want is clear. The crystals, this place, and every one of you—everything belongs to me."
His words landed like a heavy stone. A low murmur rippled through the crowd and anger flickered in Drael's eyes.
Drael spat and snorted. "Do you think we will let you have it, whatever you want without a fight."
Veythar leaned forward, silver eyes flashing. He looked right at Drael. "Lay down your shield and come join me. I will spare your lives. Your healer. Your archer. Even your bird. Serve me and you will live, instead of dying for a white-haired fool who hides in the dark while you bleed for him." he spoke again almost taunting "If he were brave, he would come out and face me."
Drael's grip tightened on his battered shield. "And what if we refuse?"
Veythar's smile vanished. His voice turned very cold. "Then you will die. Screaming in the dark. Your bones will rot here without a proper burial. Think carefully, warrior. I give a choice: live and serve me or die."
Drael spat back, calm and steady, even with the enemy pressing close. "Then perhaps death I'll choose because I've yet to see a serpent swallow a shield whole." He spoke again, almost taunting, "Do you know, funny thing about serpents—cut off the head, and the body thrashes desperately before it dies."
Veythar's silver eyes flared with fury at the words. He surged forward, moving like a striking snake—fast and lethal. But before he could reach Drael, a piercing shriek split the cavern. Ember descended from above, wings flaring. Her wind slash hit Veythar, forcing him back with a grunt.
At the cave mouth, steel rang out. Drael's shield shuddered under relentless blows. Tarran's spear darted through gaps in enemy armor. Veyra's arrows whistled from the shadows. Grok and Thorn stood firm beside Drael, holding the line with all their strength.
Deeper inside the cave, Karl faced a different battle. He crouched over Dren, palms pressed to his ruined chest. His spear lay forgotten at his side. Essence light poured from Karl's hands, knitting bone and sealing ruptured veins. Across from him, Liora knelt, her aura steadying and bolstering his fading strength.
"Hold… just hold," Karl whispered, voice rough and hoarse, sweat dripping from his chin. "I won't let you die here."
Dren convulsed, coughing blood, but under Karl's healing, his condition slowly stabilized. The wound began to close and the worst of the poison faded.
The effort drained Karl. His strength slipped fast, leaving him weak and shaking. His vision blurred and he gritted his teeth. Fumbling at his belt, he uncorked the vitality tonic and drank it in one bitter gulp. Warmth surged through him like a raging tide, steadying his hands and restoring his power.
Dren convulsed once more, but his pulse strengthened under Karl's healing. His breathing grew steadier, ragged but alive.
The hollow ache returned to Karl's stomach, sharp and insistent. He hissed and grabbed his second vial of vitality tonic and drunk in one gulp. Strength flowed back, steadying his limbs and clearing the fog from his mind.
Outside, the clash of weapons rang through the cave. Drael's shield rang with each strike, and Ember shrieked overhead, slicing through the air with her wings.
Karl rose, spear in hand, raw but renewed from the tonic. He wiped sweat from his brow and strode toward the fight, eyes sharp as steel.
"Dren is safe. Now…" His voice was hoarse but steady, hardened with resolve. He leveled his spear at the enemy line.
"Liora," he called, "heal the others."
The healer nodded, her face pale but determined. She uncorked a small vial of vitality tonic and swallowed it down, warmth spread through her veins as light bloomed around her hands. Her aura flared brighter, threads of healing weaving into the wounded around her.
Then she rose, stepping toward the cave mouth. Her radiance cut through the shadows, steady and bright.
Ahead of her, Karl moved forward into the storm that await him.