The walk dragged on longer than it should have.
Lancelot had dismissed his dragon with a wave, insisting we continue on foot. His tone allowed no argument, though I couldn't see the reason. Perhaps he didn't want the beast drawing attention. Perhaps he wanted us to take in the land with our own eyes. Whatever the case, my legs were already aching, and I had no patience left to ask.
But Elise was worse. Much worse.
Her breathing had grown uneven. Her steps faltered. The color drained from her cheeks even as her skin burned red. She stumbled once, caught herself, stumbled again—and then she collapsed.
"Elise!" I darted forward, catching her before she struck the dirt. My chest tightened at the sight of her face, slick with sweat, lips pale.
"Elise, talk to me. Stay with me." My voice cracked.
Her eyes fluttered open but barely. She looked at me as though she were fighting through a fog. I pressed a hand to her forehead and instantly hissed in shock.
"She's burning up… damn it."
"Uriel!" I shouted. "Something's wrong with her!"
Uriel spun around, her usual calm replaced by raw urgency. She knelt down, brushing Elise's damp hair aside before pressing her palm to her skin.
Her expression hardened. "Hellspire…" she muttered.
"What is it?" I demanded.
"She won't last long like this." She snapped her eyes toward Lancelot. "How far?"
"Ten minutes." His tone was grave, steady. "We have healers at camp."
Uriel nodded, her crimson gaze locking with mine. "I'll keep her in my domain. It will slow the fever until the healers can treat her."
Before I could respond, she laid Elise gently on the earth. A flick of her wrist split the ground into shadow, dark mist curling upward like smoke. Slowly, carefully, the portal swallowed Elise whole until she was gone.
I clenched my fists as the shadows closed. Powerless. All I could do was trust Uriel.
"Move," Lancelot barked.
Uriel and I followed, quickening our pace.
The trees thinned until the fortress came into view. A wall of sharpened logs rose skyward, each stake engraved with glowing runes. Magic stones embedded in the wood pulsed with light, thrumming faintly with stored energy. The entire barrier radiated strength.
Knights stood atop the battlements, bows raised, arrows notched, their eyes sharp and unyielding.
"Sir Lancelot has arrived!" a voice called out.
Trumpets blared, rolling across the camp. The gates split open with a groan, sunlight spilling over the path inside.
And there it was—The Crusaders' base.
Tents filled the clearing in neat rows, smoke rising from cookfires and forges. Knights in black armor moved with mechanical discipline. Some crouched over whetstones, sparks leaping with each stroke of steel. Others hauled crates brimming with swords and shields, their armor clanging with each heavy step. Off to the side, mages chanted, their spells bursting into fire and light that crackled in the air.
Camp? More like a battlefield waiting to ignite.
"Where's Lilith?" Lancelot called up to the wall.
"At the central tent, sir!" came the reply.
Without slowing, Lancelot pressed forward. Uriel and I matched his strides, weaving between knights. Everywhere I looked, urgency swelled. This wasn't routine. They weren't preparing—they were bracing.
Then I saw it.
A shadow rolling across the land. Enormous. Stretching far across the horizon, swallowing the sunlight.
"What the hell is that?" I muttered, grabbing Uriel's arm.
How did I not notice something that massive?
She turned, followed my gaze—and froze.
Her crimson eyes widened. Fear flickered across her face.
"Lancelot." Her voice cut sharp. "Explain."
He hesitated. His jaw tightened. Then he spoke.
"Magic beasts. More of them lately. High-ranked. A-class. We've cut them down, but…" His voice dropped. "Recently, we sighted a Leviathan."
Uriel stopped mid-step. Her face drained of color. Her lips parted, her gaze distant—haunted.
I stared, frozen. Uriel had never shown a face like that. And yet… she looked terrified.
"Uriel?" My voice was small.
She didn't answer. Her jaw tightened, her eyes hollow. For a moment she was gone, lost in memory. Then she blinked, forcing herself back.
"We need to get to the tent," she said, voice low and tight. "Elise first."
Without waiting, she broke into a run.
Lancelot followed.
And I was left trailing, a single question burning in my mind.
What kind of monster could make Uriel afraid?
The central tent loomed ahead, larger than the rest, its white canvas stitched with red crosses. Inside, the air was thick with sweat, blood, and herbs.
Chaos was the order.
"Lilith!" Lancelot called out but no one paid him any mind.
Healers rushed from cot to cot, muttering incantations, pressing glowing hands into wounds. Knights groaned on their beds—some pale with fever, others writhing in agony. The stench of blood and burned flesh clung to the air.
I froze mid-step, taking it all in. Missing limbs. Burned faces. A knight coughing black blood as two mages chanted desperately over him.
"This isn't a safe haven," I whispered, my throat dry.
Uriel turned, crimson eyes catching mine. For a moment, guilt softened her face. She opened her mouth to speak—
"Who's shouting in my hospital?"
The voice cut through the chaos.
We pushed deeper. At the far end sat a girl in full armor, legs crossed, a book open in her lap. She didn't even glance up.
"You're not hurt, Lancelot," she said flatly. "So why are you here?"
Uriel cleared her throat.
The girl's head snapped up. Her eyes widened the moment they locked onto Uriel.
The book slipped from her hands.
She shot to her feet and sprinted across the tent.
"Aunty!"
She threw herself into Uriel's arms.
I froze. The word rang in my head like a bell.
Aunty?