Karl's hand tightened around as his spear gaze lingered on the dense forest where Veythar had vanished, breath still heavy from battle. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to finish it—to strike the serpent down before it could return.
But then he looked back.
Grok was kneeling, blood soaking the earth beneath him. Thorn's vines hung limp and torn. Sylus leaned against the wall, clutching his bleeding shoulder, while Liora struggled to keep her healing light steady over Dren's still body. Even Drael's great shield was cracked down the middle, the once-smooth surface now splintered and dark.
Karl's chest tightened. The urge to chase faded beneath the weight of reality.
He lowered his spear. "No," he said softly, shaking his head. "We can't chase in this state. If we follow now, we'll only lose more."
Tarren let out a slow breath and nodded.
"Liora," Karl said, his voice firm but calm, "focus on the worst injuries first. Grok, sit down before you fall down. Renn, Thorn—gather anything we can use for bandages. Veyra, keep watch near the tunnel. Sylus, stay still. You've lost too much blood already."
Each of them moved, tired but obedient. The air smelled of dust, blood, and the faint metallic scent of fading essence.
Karl knelt beside Grok, pressing his glowing hand over the cracked wound. The giant grimaced but didn't move. "You did well," Karl said quietly. "Hold on a little longer."
Around them, the others worked in silence. The chaos had ended, replaced by the fragile calm of survivors holding together what remained.
The crystals in the cavern walls flickered faintly, their light dim but steady—like the team itself, battered yet unbroken.
Karl exhaled and glanced once more toward the darkness where Veythar had fled. "He'll be back," he murmured.
Sylus stepped slightly forward, his gaze sharp even in exhaustion. "My Lord… They've underestimated us this time. From what I observed, their full strength is far greater—around twenty-five warriors, three at Bronze III. Today, only ten came, and just one Bronze III among them."
Fear and despair rippled through the group. How can we fight them? We're only ten, and they are more than double of our number…
Karl's eyes swept over his companions, taking in the fear etched into every face—the tightening of jaws, the quick, shallow breaths, the subtle tremble in hands that had never faltered before. His chest tightened, a pang of helplessness brushing against his resolve, but he forced himself to stand firm.
"Don't let their numbers scare you," he said, voice low but resolute. Each word carried weight, a recognition of the danger they faced.
"We are injured… yes. Many of you are gravely hurt. But we have something they do not." He paused, letting his gaze meet each of theirs, letting the gravity sink in.
"We have Liora and me to mend your wounds, vitality tonic to restore your strength quickly, and—most importantly—we have this crystal mine. From it, we can summon more allies— around seventeen more and increase our strength. When they return, we will be ready."
Silence filled the cavern after Karl's words. The air was heavy, yet something in that silence changed. It was no longer the silence of fear, but of people gathering their courage.
Drael lowered his cracked shield, his breathing ragged. "Seventeen more…" he said quietly, as if tasting the hope in the number. "That might just be enough."
A shiver ran through the group—not from the cold of the cave, nor the physical exhaustion, but from the raw truth of Karl's words. Fear still lingered in their hearts, but beneath it, a spark of determination flickered. The threat was immense, the odds harsh, yet the path forward was clear.
Even in their terror, an unspoken understanding settled among them: they had a chance. And with Karl leading them, they would seize it, no matter the cost
Liora's light dimmed slightly as she finished sealing a wound on Grok's side. She looked up at Karl, her voice soft but firm. "Then we must heal quickly. If Lord Veythar attacks again before we recover, even seventeen might not be enough to hold them."
Karl nodded. "You're right." He turned toward the deeper tunnels of the mine, where the crystals pulsed with faint blue light. "We'll use this place. Rest, recover, and prepare our summons. This is our ground now. If Veythar wants it—he'll have to pay for every step."
Ember landed beside him, her feathers ruffled and dimmed from battle. She folded her wings tightly, lowering her head. Karl reached out, running a tired hand along her neck. "You did well," he whispered. "You saved us today."
Ember gave a soft, low trill in response, her eyes glowing faintly.
One by one, the others began to move. Drael helped Thorn to a wall where he could sit. Renn and Tarran dragged broken weapons into a pile, checking which could still be repaired. Veyra gathered fallen arrows, her fingers trembling as she counted how few remained. Sylus leaned against a crystal outcrop, his face pale, but his daggers still drawn—watching the tunnel like a shadow that refused to fade.
The cavern slowly filled with quiet motion, the rhythm of survival. The faint hum of the crystals blended with the sound of steady breaths and whispered orders.
Karl finally sank down against a rock, exhaustion washing over him. He looked at his hands—still faintly glowing, trembling from overuse. The battle had ended, but the war was far from over.
He glanced once more toward the forest where Veythar had vanished.
As the group gathered what they could from the fallen, the sound of shifting armor and scraping metal filled the quiet cave. Broken weapons lay scattered among the bodies. The faint glimmer of essence crystals caught the light from Renn's torch.
Veyra knelt beside one of the defeated Bronze warriors. Her eyes widened as she pressed her fingers against his chest. A faint blue glow shimmered beneath his cracked armor. "My Lord…" she called, her voice unsteady with surprise. "There's essence crystal, likely dropped from their bodies upon death."
Karl moved closer, his eyes narrowing. "Crystals… from them?"
He crouched beside the corpse, brushing away dirt and ash. The glow was unmistakable. Essence energy, solidified upon death. Something that shouldn't have happened—not like this.
"Collect them," he ordered quietly.
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