The delta was broad and still, sunlight glinting off long, slow channels of brackish water that twisted between sandbars and patches of forest. The air was clean, warm, and damp — not humid, but rich with the smell of fresh river mud and green things growing.
They moved along a narrow ridge of packed earth, high enough to give them a view of the winding river below. The trees here grew tall and well-spaced, their roots drinking from the hidden water veins beneath the loam. It was a beautiful place — deceptively so.
"You'd never know something big lived here," Jace said, glancing out across the river bend. "This place looks like a hiking trail. Peaceful. You could build a cottage here and not even think about it."
Mira snorted. "You first. Let me know how long it lasts."
Theo walked ahead of them, a long branch in one hand that he occasionally tapped through puddles or brush. "I haven't seen anything too weird. Just birds, frogs… a few gators. Those goblins from yesterday but even they looked more malnourished than normal."
"They're big, though," Mira added. "Did you see the one in the creek crossing? Had to be ten, maybe eleven feet."
Jace shuddered. "Yeah. That one looked like it was sizing me up."
"They probably are," Theo muttered. "Everything here's just a little off."
Sarah walked in the rear, her pack adjusted to sit high on her back, hair tied back tightly. She'd been listening more than talking, keeping one hand resting on the pommel of her sword. She didn't seem tense — just focused.
"They're not our target," she said after a moment. "Those are normal wildlife for this place. Elevated, sure, but natural. What we're looking for… won't behave like them."
Jace glanced back. "Okay, then how will it behave?"
Sarah stepped over a gnarled root and joined them near the front. "It's an ancient territorial lizard. What have all lizards done in any of the zoo's you went to. It won't patrol. It'll settle. Find a deep pocket in the delta and stay there, hidden. Or it'll be somewhere on the sandbar sunning itself."
Theo squinted out across the winding water. "So we're looking for somewhere it could hide. Deep channel. Slow current. Maybe a few sandbars or drop-offs nearby?"
Sarah nodded. "Exactly. Wide enough that it doesn't feel threatened. Narrow enough that it can control the flow. And quiet."
Mira tilted her head. "Quiet?"
"It's not just big. It's smart — at least in the way old predators are. It won't be anywhere that's noisy. It'll want to feel everything around it."
Jace sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. "So we're hunting a ghost in a river that's 2 miles wide."
"Not a ghost," Theo said, twirling the branch like a walking stick. "Just a lizard that thinks it owns the whole river."
Sarah stopped walking and looked out toward the water again. The river forked here, creating a crescent-shaped island covered in reeds and low brush. The current moved slower than it had upstream.
"We start looking in places like this," she said. "We won't find it unless it wants to be found. But if we're close…"
"It'll feel us," Mira finished.
"Right: Sarah said smartly,"we just need to make sure it's angry enough to move up and down the river to interfere with whatever Harold wants stopped."
They stood in silence for a moment, the breeze rustling through the trees, the faint splash of a heron taking flight somewhere downriver.
"Alright," Sarah said finally. "Let's split up by a few hundred meters. Stay within eyesight. Stick to the shorelines. We're not waking it yet. Just looking for where it sleeps."
Jace muttered, "This is gonna end great."
Theo grinned. "Come on. Nice day for a walk."
The day passed with a slow, simmering tension — the kind that made every snapped twig feel like a warning.
They moved in pairs along the river's edge, circling back to regroup every hour. The sun beat down through the trees, dappling the ground in shifting patches of gold and green. They found more gators lounging on half-sunken logs, mostly indifferent to their presence — but every now and then one would ease back into the water a little too quietly, a little too smoothly, and vanish into the murk. If anyone got too close to one, it would surge out of the water at them hissing. They were surprisingly fast when they wanted to.
A few times, they came across the signs of other visitors.
Once, a half-devoured deer carcass — not torn apart, but bitten clean through and dragged halfway into the river.
Once, a patch of trampled grass and broken reeds where something had clearly rested. Too large for anything they'd seen so far.
By midday, the goblins found them.
The first ambush was a joke — half a dozen of them, malnourished and barely holding together, rushed Mira and Theo while they were checking a low crossing. Mira shot two before they even got close. Theo cleaned up the rest with his blades. No injuries, no fuss.
"They're desperate," Mira muttered, wiping her blade on a tuft of grass.
"Yeah," Theo agreed. "But still watching."
The second group was smarter. They struck at Sarah and Jace along the tree line, using stones and spears from above, but the team had grown too used to this kind of harassment. Jace yanked Sarah down before one of the stones could hit, he threw one of his extra swords at them, his lucky hit obliterated one of their heads."
Sarah could only smile at his lucky hit.
"Persistent little bastards," Jace muttered.
"Yeah," Sarah said, adjusting her pack. "But I don't think they're hunting us."
"Not a fan," he muttered.
In the late afternoon, the last oddity came. A centaur — alone, and far off. They spotted him on a bluff across the river, half-shadowed by trees, watching silently. Then he was gone.
"He didn't move like a scout," Mira said when they regrouped. "Too casual. Like he already knew where we were."
"Or like he was checking something else," Sarah replied. "Either way, I don't like it."
They didn't see another sign of him for hours.
Evening came slowly. The heat drained from the air, replaced by a quiet stillness. The kind that comes before a storm or something worse.
Sarah found the cave by accident — a narrow opening hidden between two moss-covered boulders, just a few dozen feet above the waterline. It was surprisingly deep and ended up going further down into the earth. Sarah wanted to go scout it out completely but they ran out of torches the night before and hadn't made anymore. She was kicking herself for not doing it sooner.
"We'll sleep here," she said. "I don't like how quiet it's gotten. Mira, think you can make more torches? We're gonna need them if we get attacked tonight."
"You think we're being followed?" Theo asked.
"I think we're being watched," she replied. "That centaur was too bold. And I swear I've seen eyes on us twice since dusk."
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Jace knelt just inside the cave's mouth and began setting up a low cookfire. "Then I'm not sleeping deep."
"None of us are," Mira said. "I'll take first watch and work on making these."
Sarah nodded, dropping her pack near the wall and rolling her shoulders. "Settle in. We'll search again in the morning."
Outside, the sky dimmed from gold to violet. The sound of frogs and insects rose up from the river.
Jace blinked hard and rubbed a hand across his eyes. The inside of the cave was warm, too warm, and the walls pressed in close around him. His head dipped again, nodding toward his chest, and he snapped upright with a frustrated sigh.
"Dammit."
It was around 0200. The fire had long burned out, leaving the air thick with the faint smell of smoke and damp stone. Mira was asleep, curled near the wall with her bow across her lap. Sarah and Theo were on the other side, both still and quiet.
Jace stood, shouldering his light cloak and stepping toward the entrance. His boots barely whispered over the rock. Outside, the night was cooler, with dew clinging to the leaves and the soft chirp of frogs echoing through the undergrowth.
He moved down the slope toward the treeline, walking slow and careful, placing each step with practiced quiet. The forest was still — peaceful even.
Should've set some trip lines, he thought. Something to give us warning. I'm getting lazy.
He shook the thought off and kept moving, stretching his legs just enough to chase off the numbness in his limbs. He was just comfortable gliding through the woods practicing what Garrick had shown him.
Then —
A thump.
Another. And another.
Hoofbeats.
Jace froze. The soft cadence of trotting hooves slowed, drawing nearer.
Shit.
He dropped low, slipping behind a mossy log, and began running through the steps Garrick had drilled into every would-be scout.
SLLS. Stop. Look. Listen. Smell.
He held his breath, eyes scanning the treeline.
Nothing.
Then he glanced back toward the cave. No fire. No light. No sound. There was nothing there to give us away.
That's when three centaurs appeared.
The largest — easily the largest centaur Jace had ever seen — emerged from the trees like a phantom of war. His upper body was wrapped in dark leather, and he carried a massive claymore over one shoulder. The weapon gleamed faintly in the moonlight, too polished for a backwoods raider. It had an ornate hilt and engraved guard. This wasn't some wild tribesman. This was a leader or some kind of horse warlord.
The two that flanked him were barely smaller. One had a heavy-bladed axe across his back. The other carried a bow — a massive, recurved thing that looked like it could punch through a tree.
They moved quietly, unnaturally so for their size, and stared toward the ridge where the cave was hidden.
Jace's heart pounded in his chest as they lingered, just standing there. Listening and watching.
Then they slowly retreated back into the woods. Jace exhaled.
Only for a new sound to reach him. More hoofbeats.
He turned his head slightly — and dozens of centaurs emerged, filtering between the trees in a loose crescent formation. At least thirty, maybe more. But they were quiet and disciplined.
They know. They're moving for the cave.
His breath caught in his throat. His heart leapt into his chest and he had to stop himself from breaking into a run immediately.
"Of course this would happen on my shift," he whispered bitterly. "Couldn't be Mira's watch. Or Sarah's. Nope. It's always gotta be Jace's fault. They are never gonna let me forget this."
He began crawling backwards through the brush, careful to keep the cave in sight, careful not to make a sound.
They were coming.
And he needed to warn the others — now.
Jace's foot slid over moss as he crept backward, heart pounding so hard he thought the centaurs might hear it. He was halfway between the cave and the treeline now — maybe forty meters from the others.
Too far. Even if he ran, even if he screamed… they'd be on him before he could rouse the whole group. Theo might get up in time. Maybe Sarah. But Mira slept light — she'd bolt upright, but her first move would be to reach for her bow, not dodge a spear. He ran over a mental list of his Perks but nothing jumped at him that would help him in this situation.
I won't make it. They won't make it.
He stopped, crouched low in the brush, breathing hard.
Think. Come on, Jace. What does Garrick keep saying? Panic can be more harmful than the actual threat.
He looked down at the small pouch on his belt — his gear was light tonight, stripped down for travel. But he still had a few things.
His flint.
A half-burnt torch stub.
A couple rags he had gathered from dead goblins.
Jace squinted toward the woodline.
The centaurs were spreading out — creeping through the trees like wolves. But they weren't rushing. They were cautious. Actively looking for traps. Which meant they didn't know exactly where the cave was yet but knew they were there.
He exhaled slowly. That's your edge.
His fingers worked quickly now. He wrapped the rags around the almost done torch, poured a splash of oil from the small flask he kept, then struck the flint twice.
Snap.
A spark.
Snap.
The rag caught.
He cradled the flickering flame for a second, then flung it as hard as he could into a dry patch of bramble off to the right, deeper in the trees. It thudded into the underbrush and lit with a dull whoomph as dry leaves and branches caught.
Then Jace took a rock — something fist-sized — and hurled it after the flame in the opposite direction, snapping branches loudly as it tumbled.
He heard confused snorts and a voice — low, guttural — barking a sharp command in a language he didn't know.
He grinned.
Okay. That did something.
He crouched again, picked a second rock, and threw it farther along the same arc. More noise. A crashing sound that could've been someone fleeing.
That was enough.
The centaur formation shifted — a dozen of them started moving toward the noise, toward the growing flicker of flame. They're moving. Go now.
Jace turned and sprinted for the cave — low and fast, not bothering with stealth now. He vaulted over a root, ducked a branch, hit the slope, and rolled into the mouth of the cave with a grunt.
He hit the wall with his shoulder, staggered upright, and hissed, "Up! Wake up! They're coming!"
Theo was already rising, hand on his weapon. Mira was on her feet in a heartbeat, eyes sharp, bow in hand.
Sarah was already grabbing her sword.
Jace gasped for breath, eyes wide. "They're right outside. I bought maybe a minute!"
Both Sarah and Mira spoke at once.
"How many?"
"What was it?"
Jace held up both hands like that might slow the flood of questions. "Big. I mean huge. Biggest damn horse I've ever seen — and it had the biggest sword I've ever seen. Looked like it was forged by a blacksmith with self-esteem issues."
Theo barked a laugh.
Mira smacked him on the shoulder. "Not the time, Theo."
"Sorry," he said, grinning despite himself. "It just sounded like he was describing a centaur that moonlights on the cover of a romance novel."
Jace gave him a flat look. "Well, he wasn't here to sweep me off my feet. He had friends, Theo. Like… a lot of them."
Sarah's expression shifted. Sharp. Calculating. "If we run, do we have a chance?"
Jace shook his head immediately. "In the forest? At night? No. They're organized. Moving like a trained unit, not raiders. Fast, quiet, and too well-armed for us to scatter."
Mira's mouth tightened. "What if we run for the river?"
Jace hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Maybe. If they can't swim and stab us at the same time, we've got a shot. But one of them had a bow the size of a church window. You want to cross open water with that watching?"
Theo looked toward the cave mouth. "So what, we make a break for it now?"
Sarah didn't answer right away. She stared into the cave's shadows, thinking.
"No," she said at last. "We won't outrun them. Not all of us. But we've got one advantage — they haven't found us yet. They're still searching."
She turned toward the rear of the cave. The walls narrowed, just a little, but there was a darker seam at the back — a natural passage, shoulder-wide at best, sloping down.
"We go deeper," she said. "Hide. If they're as big as you said, they won't fit. The tunnel's too narrow. We wait until they pass or give up."
Theo squinted. "And if they try anyway?"
"Then we fight," Sarah said flatly. "We hold the line at the choke. Even Mira will have trouble squeezing through there."
Mira smiled, visibly pleased. "Thank you."
They moved quickly. Mira slung her bow, shouldered her pack. Theo grabbed the leftover torch and sparked it to life, shielding the small flame. Sarah led the way, ducking into the tight tunnel.
Sarah grabbed some of the wood from the leftover fire they had, they would need all the light they could get.
Jace lingered a second longer at the mouth of the cave.
He could hear hooves now. Closer. Voices, too — low and confident. No more stealth.
He clenched his jaw, gave the dark outside one last glance, then turned and followed the others into the barely lit darkness.
The fire was dead behind them, and the light Jace carried was barely enough.
He moved fast but careful, his small torch held low, throwing jagged shadows that twisted with every footstep. The flame wasn't for visibility — just enough to keep them from smashing into stone. Beyond its flicker, the cave was a swallowing mouth of black.
Sarah followed close, hand resting on her longsword's hilt, boots crunching against loose gravel. The air was shifting — tighter, cooler, damp. Her ears strained for hoofbeats, but all she could hear was breath. Hers. Mira's. Theo's.
"We've only got two more torches," Mira hissed, voice sharp with worry. "We go too deep, we won't get out."
Theo's shield scraped against stone as he adjusted his grip. "If we stop now, we don't get out anyway."
Jace's voice floated back, steady and low. "Turn here. Tight crawl. Left side widens."
The passage veered suddenly, forcing them to shoulder along a curved wall. It wasn't narrow enough to block a pursuer, but the bend would slow anything fast. Still too exposed. No natural hold.
"No good," Theo murmured. "Nowhere to anchor. They could still pressure us."
Sarah nodded, already pushing forward.
Ten more paces. Then the floor dipped — subtle at first, then sharply. The stone turned slick underfoot. Jace lifted the torch higher, and its dim glow revealed what they needed: a jagged cleft in the rock, barely two shoulders wide.
Jace looked back, eyes catching Sarah's. "This is it."
She stepped in first. The cleft wasn't shaped for people — she had to turn sideways, sliding her sword past her hip, shoulders scraping cold stone. Dust filled her mouth. The rock pressed against her cheek. She slipped through.
On the other side: space. Not much, but enough.
A low, bowl-like depression opened in the stone, ringed with fractured ledges just high enough to crouch behind. Dead air hung there — thick and unmoving. Sound wouldn't carry far. The path continued on, trailing deeper into the cave system.
It unnerved her that they'd slept here without scouting that direction.
She turned and whispered, "Go."
Mira came next, bow unstrung but ready. She hissed as she squeezed through, then dropped low behind a jagged shelf of stone. Then Jace, guarding the torch with one hand. Then Theo — the tightest fit — his shield nearly wedged in the rock. He grunted but made it through.
They fanned out, silent, settling into shadow. Mira strung her bow with Theo's help — she still wasn't strong enough to do it solo. When she finished, Jace pressed the torch to the wall, snuffing it with a muffled hiss.
Darkness swallowed them. Not total, but thick — oppressive.
They huddled together against the wall, pressed close, breathing shallow.
Sarah drew her sword.
"As soon as one of them tries to get through that gap, we hit them," she whispered.
Jace, crouched near the mouth, drew another short blade and kept his voice low. "They're armored across the chest, but legs and underbelly looked exposed. They'll have the reach advantage."
"I'm gonna start carrying a spear," Theo muttered.
They fell quiet.
A sharp, distant slam echoed off stone. Metal on rock — up the passage they'd just come through.
Sarah clenched her grip.
If anything followed them through that cleft, it wouldn't see the edge coming.
Then they heard it — voices drifting through the stone.
Not goblin chirps. Not the dry hissing of kobolds. These voices were deep, guttural, layered with a roughness that scraped like wet gravel. There was weight in the way they spoke — not just sound, but presence.
The slamming started again. Heavy. Rhythmic. Metal against stone.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
Jace froze, torch forgotten at his side. "They're mining the passage wider," he hissed. "They're too big to fit — they're making room."
Sarah's jaw clenched. "I knew I saw movement earlier. Someone was tracking us. This group's too organized." She looked down the tunnel, then back to the others. "We need to hold them here."
Jace was already shaking his head. "We're not ready for this fight, Sarah. Those centaurs are huge — too well armed, too well armored. We have no advantage in this space."
"We fight here," she said. "Then we fall back."
Mira's voice came quietly from the dark. "What if there's nowhere else to fall back to?"
Theo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "We're gonna be fine," he said.
Any other time, Mira would've answered with something sharp — a smirk, a quip, a jab. But now, she just leaned into the hug. She didn't say anything.
They were all scared in here.
Sarah turned to Jace. "Can you set anything? Anything that might slow them?"
Jace hesitated, thinking. Then slowly shook his head. "I was looking for spots earlier, but there's nothing that'd hold. And honestly… I don't have anything that could hurt them. Not with their size."
He swallowed. "Sarah… they're big."
Sarah's fingers tightened around her sword hilt.
The sound of steel on stone continued — steady, deliberate, close.
She closed her eyes for half a breath, then two.
They're mining the cave wider.
They're not just coming. They're preparing.
Her chest rose, then stuttered. She hadn't noticed the tremble in her hands until just now — the faint hitch in her breath, the chill behind her ribs. It came fast. Fear. Real fear.
She hated it.
We were overconfident. We thought we could handle the threats out here.
Maybe Harold was right.
He'd warned her and tried to get her to turn around.
She had just ignored him then pushed anyway, and she had taken them all with her.
Sarah's grip loosened. Then re-tightened — steady now. The thought passed like a pulse through her limbs, and her spine straightened.
No one needed her regrets. They needed a plan.
"Alright," she said, low and sharp. "Work the problem."
She turned to Theo. "When they breach, you hold center. Shield up. Don't push, don't swing, just hold. I'll be right behind you."
He nodded. "Got it."
"I'll strike around you. Keep them off you — don't chase the hit, just give me a lane."
Then to Mira: "When you're ready to fire, call it. I'll drop low."
Mira nodded, one hand tightening on the bowstring. "You better," she said, almost a whisper of a smirk.
"Jace," Sarah continued, "you're our pivot. If something happens I'll need you to solve it. When we first engage I want you to light a torch in case we need to retreat deeper into this cave."
"Understood." Jace was already shifting weight between his feet, blades loose in his hands.
Sarah exhaled through her nose.
The rhythmic clang of picks echoed through the rock, steady as a war drum. One hit. Another. Another. Then — a sudden shift in tone.
A different sound.
Crack.
Somewhere up the passage, stone gave way — not cleanly, but violently. A groan of pressure followed by the crash of collapsing rock. Shouts rang out — sharp, guttural, echoing against the stone in harsh tones. The centaurs were calling to each other.
Then came the sound of metal dragging against stone — something too large, armored, and alive, squeezing through the narrowed cleft they'd just mined open.
One of them made it through.
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Jace leaned forward near the mouth, blades at the ready, barely breathing.
"That's one," he whispered.
Theo adjusted his stance, preparing to surge into the gap. Sarah moved up beside him, her blade angled low and ready, her shoulders squared with his. They were going to hold this line — whatever it took.
Then a bright light appeared — flickering, orange, approaching from around the bend.
Behind it came the sound of heavy movement — boots or hooves scraping rock. And more than one. The picks started again, slamming into stone in a stuttering rhythm.
They were still trying to widen the tunnel.
The torchlight grew brighter until it stopped at the narrow entrance just beyond the cleft. A large figure stood just outside the squeeze.
All of them froze — even their breath caught like it might betray them.
The voice came loud and irritated: something guttural and clipped. Not human. Then it shouted again — a sharp command — and tried to force its way through.
Stone scraped against armor. A frustrated growl echoed.
Sarah's voice cut the silence. "Don't let him get away."
Theo didn't hesitate. He surged forward and slammed his shield into the narrow opening, locking the path.
Sarah moved with him, emerging beside the shield just as the torchlight revealed their enemy fully — a centaur, not one of the massive ones, but still easily two feet taller than any of them. Its upper body was thick with muscle, face half-shadowed by the torch it held in one hand. In the other, it tried to raise an axe — too large for the space.
It never got the chance.
Sarah lunged forward, all caution abandoned. She drove her sword straight into the centaur's exposed midsection — the soft place where its human torso met the horse-like lower half. The blade sank deep.
The centaur screamed, a furious, guttural cry that shook the stone walls.
Its axe clattered to the ground.
Then a huge arm swung, faster than she could react — and backhanded her across the passage. Sarah hit the wall hard, air driven from her lungs and she dropped to the ground.
The centaur reared back, bellowing in rage, its massive torso twisted unnaturally in the narrow stone throat. It tried to wrench itself back, blood pouring from the wound in its gut, hooves stomping in frustration.
Then Mira fired.
One snap of the string — no call, no warning.
The arrow struck the centaur just beneath the eye, punching deep into the skull. Its head jerked violently, then sagged. Its whole body went limp in the passage, blocking the gap like a cork in a bottle.
It didn't even collapse — it simply slumped, suspended in stone.
Silence returned like a gasp held too long.
Jace was already moving. He struck a fresh torch, the flame blooming in the dark like a second breath, then rushed to Sarah's side.
She was trying to push herself up with one hand, her sword still clutched in the other. Blood streaked down from her temple, matting her hair, dripping into her eye.
"Stay down," Jace muttered, kneeling beside her.
"I'm fine," Sarah hissed, which was a lie.
"You're not," he said, grabbing her under the arm. "But I've seen you worse."
"Not true," she muttered.
Jace gritted his teeth. "Shut up and let me help you," he hissed.
Behind them, the centaur's body twitched once — just a spasm, a final reflex. Mira didn't flinch. She kept her bow up, eyes locked on the corpse like it still might lurch forward.
Theo stood firm, shield braced against the slumped mass of muscle and armor. But after a few seconds, he exhaled, realizing it was well and truly dead. He stepped forward, grabbing the torch still burning near the centaur's side.
Then he started checking the body — armor, weapons, anything of use.
Behind him, Sarah groaned as she sat up, one hand to her head. "Damn," she muttered. "That was a hit."
Jace steadied her with a hand under her arm.
"You weren't lying about how big they were," Sarah muttered, blood still trickling into her eyebrow.
"They only look bigger when they backhand you into a wall," Jace said, crouched beside her.
Mira smiled for half a second — then smacked him upside the head. "Not the time for jokes! We don't have any healing potions."
Jace hissed back, "Well whose fault is that? You got hurt when we cleared that den before the river crossing — you used our last one!"
"Shut up," Sarah groaned, dragging herself upright. "We can all hear more of them coming."
The cave trembled with movement again — hooves shifting, armor clinking, guttural voices speaking in rough, clipped orders. Some were close. Others still echoed further back. But there was no mistaking it: the centaurs were gathering.
Jace stood, blades in hand. "They're stacking up on the other side of the body."
Mira was already resetting her bowstring, sliding behind her ledge again. "They're not stupid. They know we're here now."
Theo stepped up to the corpse in the cleft, pressing one hand to the edge of its armor. "If they try to drag him out…"
"Then we hit them," Sarah said, limping back into position beside him. She reset her grip on her sword. "We can't let them widen this gap any more."
Jace nodded, falling back into his position behind them. "If even one of the big ones gets through…"
Suddenly, the centaur's corpse was yanked back — violently, like dead weight on a chain. The massive body scraped free of the gap, dragged into darkness.
And behind it — more of them.
A half-dozen centaurs filled the tight space beyond, torchlight bouncing off armor and muscle. One of them stepped forward — tall, broad, wielding a massive bow nearly the size of a man.
Before anyone could react, the centaur nocked, drew, and fired in a single motion.
The arrow screamed through the air.
Sarah saw it in slow motion — the way the bow curved, the twang of the string, the arrow's shaft slicing forward like a black streak in firelight. The tip struck Theo's shield and punched through it without slowing, driving straight into his chest behind it.
The shield splintered with a crack — the force of the arrow pinning it to Theo's body. He staggered, no sound coming out, legs folding beneath him.
"Theo!" Mira shouted, already loosing a retaliatory shot — but the archer had already disappeared, ducking behind a shield.
Theo dropped.
Sarah was already moving.
Her perk ignited, body accelerating before her thoughts could keep up. The cave blurred around her. In a blink, she was there — just as Theo collapsed with a strangled scream. She caught him under the arms, staggering back under his weight.
Jace rushed forward, grabbing Theo's torso from her as Mira continued firing into the gap.
"They're trying to push through!" Jace yelled. "They're moving!"
The centaurs surged forward. Another tried to squeeze into the narrow cleft, using the opening cleared by the corpse. The archer was blocked for now, but the others weren't hesitating.
Mira kept firing.
Arrow after arrow hissed through the narrow space, each shot forcing the centaurs to flinch back or duck. She wasn't aiming to kill now — she was buying seconds, burning arrows to keep the enemy from getting a clean angle.
Sarah was still kneeling, sword in one hand, the other pressed against Theo's chest, shaking. She stared at the arrow. At the shield still pinned into his ribs.
Jace grabbed her shoulder. "Sarah. He's not gone. But he will be if we stay here."
She didn't move.
"Look at me."
She turned her head, just barely. Her face was pale, blood still slicking her temple.
"You can't hold this without him," Jace said. "You have to move. Help me get him out of here."
Then—
"Fall back!" Mira's voice rang out through the tunnel, sharper than steel. Something in it cracked open the world.
Sarah felt it — like someone driving breath back into her lungs. Jace blinked in surprise. His arms suddenly felt lighter, movements cleaner. His grip tightened around Theo without effort.
Mira's perk had triggered — a battlefield command effect that spread like a pulse through their bodies. Strength, resolve, clarity.
Sarah surged to her feet, gripping Theo's legs.
Jace took the upper half, and together they moved.
Mira fired again. Then again. The last arrow thudded into the wall beside a centaur's head, and they hissed, drawing back.
Sarah grabbed the looted torch from where Theo had dropped it earlier, the flame guttering low, and turned into the tunnel.
"Move!" she shouted. "Go deeper!"
They ran.
The torch lit uneven stone ahead, the passage bending tighter, darker. Behind them, the centaurs regrouped, howling in frustration. The voices already sounded like they were trying to get their miners up to the gap.
They moved as fast as they could, half-carrying, half-dragging Theo through the narrowing tunnel. The torch Sarah had grabbed threw long, trembling shadows along the walls. Every few steps, they staggered under Theo's weight.
"Set him down," Jace finally said, breath hitching. "Quick — I need to see how bad it is."
They knelt in a wider patch of stone. Mira dropped beside them and pulled a cloth from her pouch.
The arrow had punched clean through. The tip was visible on Theo's back, slick with blood, but not broken. The shaft had gone straight through ribs and out again. No gurgling breath. No pink foam. No arterial spray.
Mira's eyes went wide. "It missed the lung. And the heart. Somehow."
"The shield took most of it," Jace muttered, tearing a strip of cloth and pressing it against the exit wound. "He's bleeding, but not fast. It's almost like the arrow itself's holding him together."
"Don't pull it," Sarah said immediately.
"I wasn't going to." Jace retorted quickly
Theo groaned, face twisted in pain. "Still here," he muttered weakly. "Appreciate all the… support…"
"Shut up," Mira said softly, but she was already tying the cloth around his chest, tightening the wrap beneath the shield. "Try not to move. At all."
They lifted him again — slower now, but steady.
The cave began to descend.
Not steeply, but enough to feel it in their knees, their calves, the way loose stones shifted underfoot. It curved once, then again. The walls grew wetter and more slick. The air heavier.
Then they saw it.
The tunnel dropped off abruptly into a hole in the stone floor — maybe six feet wide. A vertical shaft straight down into darkness. And yet… it wasn't pitch black.
A faint light shimmered up from below, pale blue and oddly still. The shape of the chamber below was unclear, but at its center: water. They saw no waves and no other signs of life.
Jace knelt by the edge, holding the torch out over the hole. "I can't see the bottom. But it's there. Looks… deep."
"I don't hear a current," Mira said. "Still water. No wind either. No voices."
Behind them, a distant crash echoed through the tunnel — rock slamming against rock, something massive shifting.
The centaurs were coming.
Sarah backed a few steps from the edge, torch held high, and glanced behind them.
The tunnel twisted off into shadow, but the sounds were clear now — stone scraping, hooves thudding, metal ringing off rock. The centaurs were close. Too organized, they were methodical and that breach they conducted was planned.
She looked at the narrowing path behind them — no good angles, no cover, no traps.
They'd never hold here. Even the troll hadn't been like this. That had been a brute fight, sure, but it was stupid. This? This was coordinated.
"They're better than anything we've fought," she said aloud. "Even the troll."
Mira didn't argue. She just stared at the glowing water below.
"We have to jump," she said.
Theo blinked at the hole. "Gods," he muttered. "This is gonna suck."
Jace snorted, still catching his breath. "I'll catch you."
Sarah didn't move.
"We don't know what's down there," she said, voice low.
Mira gave a wild little laugh — not amused, just done.
"If this were one of those stories," she said, "all dramatic and super cliché, the damn Thresher King would be down there waiting."
Jace froze mid-breath. "You didn't—"
Then he groaned and cursed. "Sarah jinxed us, remember."
"It's definitely down there," he added. "We're definitely gonna die."
Behind them, the tunnel roared again with the sound of crumbling stone and a series of rapid hoof beats.
Harold sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, the latest stack of reports spread out before him. His office in the central longhouse stayed quiet this time of day — just the faint scratch of pen on parchment, the creak of beams settling in the heat, and the occasional low murmur from the outer office.
Margret's notes ran along the margins of every page. Precise. Underlined. Suggested actions. Thoughtful analysis.
She now had four others working under her — or at least in theory. Harold rarely saw more than one or two of them at a time. The others were usually out "on tasks," which meant Margret had started building her own quiet network inside the settlement.
He didn't mind. She was damn good at what she did.
He flipped to the newest field report — the surveyor's team sent north toward the mountains. They were scouting for richer ore veins and potential sites for a second village. The process had been slow, hampered by goblin ambushes, some kind of territorial mountain snake, and a predatory falcon that dove from the skies without warning.
Despite that, they were making progress. A few promising spots had been flagged. Two adventuring teams were escorting the expedition — their reports were less formal but more colorful.
Apparently, the mountain snake had granted them a Strike Fast perk — an uncommon one. And the falcon, in some lucky kill, had given one of the rangers a vision enhancement perk. Everyone on that trip wanted both now, of course.
It was a good run for them.
But it didn't do much to quiet the worry pressing behind Harold's ribs.
Sarah's team was still out there.
She had confirmed the mission Harold had given her. They had checked in once when they bedded down for the night after a day of searching — but they hadn't reported in since.
It wasn't like her.
He scrawled instructions onto the page for the surveyor expedition, then set it aside and reached for the next.
Captain Hale had successfully rendezvoused with the refugees and was beginning the return journey. Harold had specifically told him to leave the Knights there — just in case. He didn't want any strikes against Henri. Killing the soldiers wouldn't help, and he hoped to fold them into his structure eventually. But he did want a force there ready to react if anything happened.
Preparations at the secondary village site were progressing well. The main hall's frame was already up — it would house half the incoming group by the time they arrived. Four more halls were planned, but materials were tight and labor tighter.
The latest report on the construction for the Guild Hall, Evan and Mark had come to apologize to Harold that morning for changing the designs for the guild hall but they were firm in their stance. They wanted specific things in the guild hall that extended the timeline for building it. Like a vault. Right now fully two hundred people across the settlement were involved in finishing it. Josh had said he would have it done this evening and if that didn't upgrade the settlement he didn't know what would.
Then came the report he hadn't stopped thinking about all morning.
He reread it again with a quiet note of satisfaction.
Centurion Parker's report. A single line, half-buried in a longer update.
A local from the refugee group may possess a crafter-class perk tied to fire manipulation.
That was new.
Not one person in Landing had shown any sign of a crafter-based elemental perk. Even the miners — who he'd hoped might develop one naturally — hadn't. Most crafters were tool-based. Production-focused.
In his last life, fire had been rare. But immensely valued.
Able to heat a forge without fuel. Maintain potion temperature to the precise degree. His own fire-based perk had taken enormous effort to earn — and ended with him burning down the workshop he was training in.
Harold leaned forward, knuckles against his chin, reading that line again.
He wanted to meet this person.
But not before he got word from Sarah's team.
Of all the moving pieces right now, that was the most urgent. He needed to keep Henri unstable. Letting Arjun reinforce him — or worse, letting them work together — would make the Basin harder to control in the long run.
Telling Sarah to chase the region boss had been a massive risk.
But if it worked, it would solidify his control and give him time to expand.
And if it didn't—
"Come on, Sarah…"
"Go!"
Mira's shout was drowned by the crash of splitting stone behind them.
They didn't jump. They fell.
Sarah hit the air first — a blur of cold rushing up to meet her. The torch tumbled beside her, flame extinguishing in a hiss before she even hit the water. She barely had time to cross her arms over her chest and tuck her legs.
Then: impact..
The lake swallowed her whole.
She plunged deep, her body buckling under the cold. A pressure wrapped around her ribs like fists — not just from the fall, but the sheer weight of the water around her. It wasn't just a pool.
It was massive. Sarah kicked, twisted, trying to orient herself, but something… shifted in the darkness.
Something huge.
She stilled, instinct taking over.
Below her, far beneath the rippling blue glow, a shape slept — motionless but unmistakable.
Massive spines, like ship hulls. A crown of jagged bone, partially buried in muck. Muscles under scales thicker than stone.
The Thresher King.
Right under her feet. Still asleep and far larger than Harold had described to her.
She didn't breathe. Didn't blink.
A shadow moved to her left — Jace, surfacing beside her, eyes wide even underwater. He had seen it too.
They kicked off together, slow and careful, rising toward the surface in silence.
They broke water with a gasp.
Mira surfaced seconds later, dragging Theo's limp weight with her. She barely managed to keep his head above the surface. His shield was gone. The arrow still stuck in him and Sarah could see blood in the water.
They paddled, gasping, looking for shoreline.
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It loomed ahead — wet rock and moss leading up into dry stone and flickering torchlight and the light of some kind of luminescent moss
They made it. But Sarah slowed first, why were there torches?
Her eyes adjusted to shapes. Then dozens of them.
Low structures made of dark stone and timber. Fire pits. Hanging nets. Sleeping forms curled in woven hammocks or stretched near the coals. A large carved and painted Totem with an alter.
She saw weapons stacked against a totem near the center.
And lizardfolk. Dozens. Far more than other den she had fought at.
They had landed in the center of a lizardman den.
Sarah sucked in breath and waved them down. "Stop. Low. Low." she hissed quietly.
Jace twisted to shield Mira and Theo with his body. Mira kept Theo's mouth just above the surface. They drifted — barely — toward a cleft in the rocks along the water's edge, half-submerged, just deep enough to squeeze into.
Sarah reached it first, pulling herself under the lip of stone.
The others followed inside: barely enough room to crouch. Wet rock, stagnant water. A heavy smell of scale and smoke. Sarah had already seen a couple of the lizard folk wondering what had made those splashes in the water. They were lucky they hadn't been screaming as they plummeted into the water.
Jace shifted in the cramped space, breathing hard. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay. Someone tell me we didn't just fall into the center of a damned lizardman city."
Mira peered out through the cleft's opening, her voice low and tight. "We did."
"Fantastic," Jace muttered. "And the thing under the lake—"
"Thresher King," Sarah said flatly.
Jace didn't respond. Just wiped his face and stared at the black water. "I knew you jinxed us..."
Sarah turned her attention to Theo. He lay half-curled between them, skin clammy, the arrow still embedded deep, barely held in place by a shredded wrap. Blood oozed slowly but steadily around the shaft. The entry wound had swollen.
She pressed two fingers against his neck. Still a pulse but it was slow.
Mira leaned close. "He's colder. Worse than before."
"We need to pull it," Jace said. "Bleeding's already happening. Might be we're holding it in."
"We don't have anything to close it after," Sarah whispered. "Not here. What if the smell of blood wakes it up while we are in the water!"
"He won't last another hour like this," Mira snapped, trying not to raise her voice. "He's already unconscious."
Sarah stared down at him, jaw tight.
"We landed in the middle of a hostile den," she said quietly. "No idea how many of them. No idea if they're friendly, territorial, or just hungry."
"I vote hungry," Jace said grimly.
Mira hissed, "Shut up."
A distant snort echoed outside. Bare feet sloshed through water.
All three of them froze.
The lizardman passed just outside the cleft, dragging something wrapped in leather. Its nostrils flared once. Then it kept moving.
Gone.
Sarah let out a breath — slow and shaking.
"We need a plan," she whispered. "We can't stay here. He's dying."
They heard the drums first.
A slow, heavy rhythm that echoed across the water like a heartbeat, steady and low.
Sarah shifted in the cleft, just enough to glance out through the narrow break in the rock. Torchlight flickered along the shore now — dozens of them, moving in circles.
Then came the chanting.
Guttural. Rhythmic. Lizardfolk voices rising in a low, layered drone that pulsed with the beat of the drums.
Figures emerged from the dark between buildings — dozens of them. Some limped. Others bore wounds bandaged in crude cloth and scales. But all of them moved toward the central firepit at the heart of the settlement.
They barely had a view of it between various disturbed buildings.
Mira crawled up beside her, careful not to disturb Theo's body behind them. "What the hell is this?" she whispered.
"I don't know…A ritual?" Sarah guessed.
Then she saw the priestess.
Taller than the rest. Robes stitched from woven reeds and feathers. Gold rings in her ears and nostrils. She moved with slow, practiced steps — carrying a wide, blackened bowl carved from some kind of volcanic glass.
And behind her — the captives.
Four centaurs, bound and bloodied, dragged forward by what had to be a war party. Lizardfolk hunters, lean and scarred, armored in lacquered leather and wielding curved swords and round shields.
The first centaur was forced to its knees.
The priestess raised a knife — obsidian, jagged, cruel.
She spoke a phrase in a language Sarah didn't know. The centaur was struggling to escape but he was held fast by various warriors.
Then she opened the centaur's throat.
Mira flinched.
The blood spilled directly into the bowl. Thick and fast.
The priestess moved deliberately, adding something else to the mixture — some other ingredients. She stirred it with a carved stick of blackened wood, her voice rising.
The lizardfolk didn't cheer but they watched in silence.
The priestess approached the nearest wounded warrior — a limping fighter with a slashed chest.
She offered the bowl.
The warrior drank.
And changed.
It was subtle at first — the way he stood straighter, how his fingers flexed. But then his posture shifted. Eyes widened. Muscles tensed like a wire being pulled tight. The wound on his chest slowly closed and scales regrew.
Sarah's breath caught.
"It's a potion," she said, eyes narrowing.
Mira blinked. "What?"
"That's what she's making. A potion. Healing — probably more. That lizard looks a lot stronger."
Behind them, Theo groaned. Faint.
Jace didn't look up. "He's not getting better."
Sarah stared at the priestess, watching her return to the bowl. Another centaur was being dragged forward.
"I need that potion," she said, voice like flint.
Mira turned to her, eyes wide. "You're not serious."
"She's making it now. With blood, yes. But it heals. And if we don't get it—"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Mira hissed "you want to feed him some kind of lizard blood potion?"
Sarah looked back at her fiercly…"Do you see a better option?"
Jace looked up at her resignation. "Okay," he said, softly. "How the hell do we steal it?"
"Jace," Sarah whispered, still watching the fires. "Come with me."
He looked up. "What?"
"We need a better view. A better plan."
She turned to Mira, who hadn't taken her eyes off the priestess. "Stay with Theo. If he starts to crash, do what you can. But don't move him unless you have to."
Mira nodded once, jaw clenched. "Be quick."
Sarah and Jace slipped into the water in silence, hugging the rocky edge as they drifted, barely making ripples. The cavern was massive — even larger than it had looked at first. What they'd thought was a lake fed by some underground spring was actually a deep tributary, drawing from the main river above. Faint light leaked from a crack in the ceiling high above, like the sky itself had forgotten this place.
They drifted slowly until Sarah caught a clearer look at the village's scale.
What she'd taken for scattered huts was actually an organized layout. Paths. Guard stations. Stone-and-wood structures. And surrounding all of it — a thick palisade, ten feet tall and ringed with watchtowers. Mounted on each tower was a small ballista, crude but looked functional. She counted six of them, covering every angle of approach.
Jace grunted softly beside her. "This isn't just a camp. It's a fortress."
"Yeah," Sarah murmured.
They moved closer to a darker outcropping of stone to observe without being seen. Sarah scanned the terrain — spotted three entrances to the cavern: one large enough for supply wagons, another narrow and winding like the path they'd come through, and a third sunken tunnel across the lake, possibly a water route.
They were cut off. There was no way to leave without being seen. Then the drums changed.
They became slower and heavier.
Jace tensed beside her. "What now—"
The water moved and they both froze.
Something shifted in the lake's center. A ripple that became a swell. The chanting grew louder, echoing off the stone, matching the beat of the drums.
Then the lake exploded upward in a tower of water and scale.
The Thresher King rose.
Moss and silt sloughed off its plated back. It loomed out of the depths like the spine of the world, its head breaching the surface — all horns, jagged teeth, and lidless eyes that shimmered like molten metal. The lake drained around its rising form. Its mouth opened, impossibly wide.
The priestess lifted her arms, chanting louder.
Behind her, the lizardfolk warband dragged the dead centaur's body to the water's edge, and tossed it in. The Thresher King struck.
Its maw clamped down on the corpse with a crack, then vanished beneath the water in a single surge, leaving nothing but foam and blood in its wake.
The drums fell silent.
Sarah exhaled through her teeth.
The priestess turned, stepping back to the bowl. The next centaur was dragged forward.
Jace whispered, "I don't want to be here anymore."
Sarah didn't answer. She just kept watching.
The ritual began again.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, a shape began to form.
The drums echoed across the black water, slow and full of weight.
Jace moved fast, staying low along the various lizard buildings, water lapped at his boots as he began dipping into the water to get back to the alcove. The moment the Thresher King had breached the lake a second time, he'd lost sight of the alcove— the swell had risen so high, he thought it had swallowed the whole cleft.
He rounded the last jut of stone and found them.
Mira was crouched low inside the alcove, dripping wet, hair plastered to her face. She had one arm braced around Theo's limp body and the other gripped tight on her bow, jaw clenched. Her eyes snapped to Jace the second he appeared.
"Where the hell were you?" she hissed.
Jace didn't waste breath. "The plan's happening now. Sarah's already moving into position. We need to go."
Mira blinked water out of her eyes. "What?!"
"She's sneaking toward the priestess. She's going to grab the potion. You and I are taking Theo to the tower and one of the gates."
Mira just stared at him. "You left her alone?"
"Not by choice." He grimaced. "We really need to go, Mira."
She looked down at Theo — pale, blood-soaked, breathing shallow. "The whole cleft flooded," she said, voice cracking now. "When that thing came out of the water. I had to hold Theo up above the water just to keep him from drowning. I thought we were dead."
"We will be," Jace said grimly, "unless we move. Now."
She ran a hand over her face and dragged in a breath, eyes darting toward the lights and torches of the village. "What's the rest of this suicide plan?"
"There's a ballista in one of the towers. We take Theo. Sneak through the village and get to the tower. We have to kill the guards in it. You climb. Wait for the Thresher King to open its mouth for the sacrifice… Then you fire into its mouth."
She stared at him. "what?"
Silence.
Then Mira burst out, "You people are absolutely out of your minds—!"
"We still need to wake it up more! Throw the priestess off. Give Sarah her opening to steal that potion!" Jace whispered urgently back.
Mira paced in a tight half-circle, then slapped her hand hard against the rock. "You want me to shoot a massive crocodile with a literal crown of bone in the face with a siege weapon. I've never used it before! While Sarah tries to rob a lizard blood cult with five hundred lizards watching."
Her voice hit the last word too hard. It cracked.
She laughed once — short and sharp — then dragged both hands through her hair. "This is insane. This is actually insane. We're not— we're not supposed to be here. We were supposed to be scouting. Mapping paths. Helping rescue some refugees, Not—" She gestured helplessly toward the lake, the drums, the god beneath the water. "Not this."
Jace let her pace. Let her breathe. Let the hysteria burn itself out for half a second. Her brown hair was originally in a long ponytail but now it was plastered to her skin wet from the water. Her freckles stood out in the low light. Her hand gripped the worn bow she had taken from the kobold and Jace could see the blood on her wrist where the string had slapped against her drawing blood. He was more grateful than she knew that she was here.
Jace took a deep breath and pushed the insanity from his own mind. Then he stepped in front of her, gently pulling her into a gentle hug. Her arms gripped him tightly.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."
She stopped.
"We're not heroes," he went on. "We're not legends. We're not supposed to be calm right now." He glanced back at Theo, pale and unmoving. "We're kids who got dragged into the end of the world and are trying to do the best we can."
Mira swallowed hard, eyes shining. "Then why does it feel like if I screw this up, everyone dies?"
"Because that part's true," Jace admitted softly. Then softer, "All we can do is the best we can, and we deserve a little freak out sometimes."
She let out a shaky breath. "I can't— I can't even feel my hands."
Jace reached out and took her wrists, steadying them. His grip wasn't strong. Just there.
"Look at me," he said.
"You don't have to be brave," he said. "You just have to do the next best thing. That's it. One step at a time."
"What if I miss?"
Jace chuckled, "Then we're already dead," he said plainly. "So we don't worry about that."
A hysterical sound escaped her — halfway between a laugh and a sob. "That's not comforting."
"I know," Jace said. "But you're the only one who can do this. And you are good. You always have been."
Mira closed her eyes. Pressed her forehead briefly against his shoulder.
Then she straightened.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. I can do one thing at a time."
She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve and picked up her bow again, hands still shaking — but steadying.
Jace nodded. "That's all we need."
They both looked once more toward the lake.
The drums were getting louder.
"Let's go shoot a god," Mira muttered.
And together, they lifted Theo and moved.
The drums pounded like distant thunder, echoing off stone and water. They could still see the Thresher King breaching the underground lake.
Jace crept along the edge of the lizard village, Mira following close behind, Theo half-limp between them. They moved between squat stone huts and slick rock outcroppings, ducking under woven canopies, past flickering torchlight and the low murmur of voices chanting by the lakeside.
Most of the lizardfolk were gathered near the water, eyes fixed on the priestess and the blood-soaked altar. The glowing totem near them. It actually kinda looked like the Stele in their own village. The second centaur had just been dragged out, its wounds freshly reopened.
Jace didn't watch.
They were nearly to the tower when he saw the movement — a single lizardman, wandering from the path, its attention pulled toward the lake, spellbound by the ritual. No weapon in hand. A torchlight glow flickered across its side. But it was too close and in their way.
Jace didn't hesitate.
He moved low and fast, his knife in hand.
The lizard turned slightly as he reached it — just enough to register something wrong.
It never had time to react.
One hand slammed over its mouth. The knife slid deep into its throat and he pulled it across it ear to ear, just like Garrick had shown him. It jerked once. A soft hiss escaped into Jace's palm, muffled and wet. The blood dripped over his hand and onto the knife.
He eased the body down into the shadowed space beneath a broken canopy, chest heaving.
His hands shook for a second.
Then he turned. Mira was crouched nearby,still holding Theo, her eyes wide.
They reached the tower moments later — the shadow of its wooden frame rising against the stone. A narrow ladder led upward, where a faint silhouette moved behind the upper palisade. One guard posted above. Another at the base — just around the far side, tail flicking lazily as it paced.
Jace crouched behind a jagged pillar and whispered, "One up. One down. We take them at the same time."
Mira nodded, face pale but jaw set.
"I'll circle left," Jace said. "Give me five seconds."
She was already nocking an arrow. Her face locked in concentration.
Jace hurried off into the darkness to get around the lazy guard.
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The guard at the base of the tower shifted just as Jace came in — silent, fast, the rhythm of the drums covering the scrape of his boots. The blade slid into the lizard's neck just as it turned. Jace guided it down to the earth, burying it beneath the shadows of the wooden tower supports.
Above him — twang.
A body hit the top of the palisade with a dull thump.
Jace looked over to where Mira was with Theo.
Mira was already moving to begin climbing. Bow back on her shoulder. One hand, one rung at a time, teeth clenched.
She reached the top and vanished over the edge.
Jace knelt beside Theo, who lay slumped back where they had hidden. Blood still weeping through the old bandage. "Need you to hang on alittle more buddy."
He glanced toward the massive wooden gate nearby — and then toward the lake.
The priestess raised her arms again. And the drums were starting to beat harder again.
It was almost time. "Sarah better be in position…"
From above, Mira's whisper cut through the steady thrum of the drums.
"Jace—! I need help!"
He looked up from the locking bar on the gate. "What—?"
"It won't rotate toward the settlement!" she hissed, leaning over the edge, panic tightening her voice. "It's jammed—!"
Jace groaned under his breath. He gave the locking pin one last hard twist and felt it give — the mechanism on the gate loosening beneath his fingers. He didn't wait to test it.
He was already sprinting for the ladder.
Water sloshed somewhere out by the lake.
The drums were picking up speed again, just as he climbed, rung after rung, boots slipping slightly on the slick wood. Halfway up, he looked back toward the lake — and saw it clearly for the first time.
The third centaur was resisting. Barely.
Its legs were buckling, arms straining as two lean lizard warriors held it down beside the altar. Its chest was torn open from earlier combat, bleeding heavily. The priestess stood nearby — not a bowl, Jace realized now, but a vase — wide-mouthed and narrow at the base, with broad flared sides and tall curved handles. It was shaped to catch blood and to pour.
His stomach twisted and his mind tried to reject what he was seeing. The world shouldn't be this…brutal…
"Mira—"
"I know!" she barked. "Just hurry!"
He reached the platform and swung himself over the lip.
Mira was crouched beside the massive ballista, her hands on its thick wood frame, trying to turn it. It sat on a heavy wooden swivel base. It should have rotated. But it didn't.
"There's a lock—" Jace said instantly.
He dove to the base, found the iron lever sunk into the floor, and yanked it hard.
The mechanism let out a deep click and the entire ballista groaned as it came loose.
Mira scrambled back, and the siege weapon swung easily now — heavy but smooth.
It turned toward the lake. Toward the altar and Thresher King. Jace still couldn't believe the massive size of the thing. The tunnel that led up into the river above must be massive.
Jace looked at her. Mira flushed and didn't quite meet his eyes. "I didn't see it."
"It's fine," he said, already reaching for the bolts.
Wicked broadheads sat stacked to the side, tips the size of his hand — meant for siege but they would work on a monster.
They slotted one onto the track, then together began turning the crank to draw back the massive string.
Below them, the priestess began to chant again.
The centaur was screaming.
The bolt clicked into place, thick cord wound tight behind it, the drawstring fully locked.
Mira slid forward, hands steadying on the massive frame. The ballista swiveled smooth now under her guidance, creaking softly as she brought it around toward the lake.
She leaned into the aiming brace, one eye closed, peering down the long spine of the weapon toward the water's edge.
The Thresher King still loomed — half-submerged, vast jaws just above the surface, eyes closed, as if sensing the blood before it was spilled.
Mira exhaled slowly. The wood was rough beneath her fingers.
Behind her, Jace crouched low, whispering, "You've got this. Clean shot. Deep breath—"
"Shut up," Mira hissed without turning. "If I miss, you'll be the first thing I blame."
Jace grinned despite himself, crouching beside her for half a heartbeat longer.
Then it happened.
The priestess plunged the curved ritual blade into the centaur's throat.
The creature jerked, choked, and crumpled against the stone.
The priestess caught the blood in her vase — and this time, something changed.
It shimmered.
Soft at first — a faint glow that pulsed from within the mixture. The red darkened unnaturally, shifting to something near-black, and a low hum seemed to radiate from the fluid itself.
Jace's face tightened. Then, he whispered: "Good luck."
He disappeared over the edge of the tower and began to climb down, boots creaking on the ladder.
The ballista vibrated slightly under her fingers.
Mira breathed in and let it out slow.
The glow from the vase was getting brighter now. She saw it softly even from here. The priestess held it aloft, chanting louder, the lizardfolk all bowing — hundreds of them on their knees — as the lake rippled and the Thresher King began to shift.
Mira sighted the bolt on its massive snout, just between the bone ridges of its skull. She adjusted up. Center of the maw. She could just make out the inside of its mouth now — like the roof of a cathedral, dark and veined.
Her hands shook — not much, but enough.
She whispered, barely audible: "One thing at a time."
The priestess raised the vase higher in victory.
The Thresher King's nostrils flared.
And Mira's finger tensed on the firing lever.
The Thresher King rose a little.
The water parted around its bulk like a continent shifting. Jaws yawned open wider than any creature Mira had ever seen.
Below, the priestess chanted louder, voice pitched high, echoing through the cavern.
Four lizardfolk warriors lifted the limp centaur's corpse — massive even in death. They carried it between them toward the beast's gaping mouth, stepping carefully over slick stone, blood trailing behind.
Mira adjusted the ballista's aim, heart hammering in her chest.
I don't know the drop, she thought. Don't know the strength of this thing. Don't know anything about wind or weight or gods—
She wiped sweat or water from her eye and stared down the line again.
Don't need to know everything.
She could feel the string, tight as steel behind the bolt. The carved wooden lever under her hand felt far too light for what it was about to do.
She saw the priestess raise the glowing vase again.
The lizardfolk reached the edge.
Three hundred meters, she thought. Just like that one scene…
What scene?
She racked her brain — it was some movie her brother loved. The one with elves and swords and walking for a thousand years. There'd been a guy — blonde, bow-obsessed, way too graceful — who slid down a giant trunk and shot a beast right between the eyes.
She didn't remember the name. But the image stuck.
"Legolas… or whatever," she muttered under her breath. "Please let this be one of those moments."
She exhaled. She pulled the trigger.
The bolt launched — not fired, not loosed or shot — launched. It kicked back the entire platform with a violent thunk, the entire tower shivering under her as the broadhead tipped missile became a blur slicing the air.
It screamed across the cavern like a meteor.
Below, the centaur's corpse was just starting to fall — arms outstretched, limp, a sacrifice offered mid-motion—
The bolt struck.
Straight into the Thresher King's upper mouth, sinking to its fletching into the roof of its mouth.
It didn't explode. It didn't roar. But the entire lake shook.
And then the world shattered.
The Thresher King roared, a sound like stone splitting and bones breaking — not one voice but a thousand, old and wrong and endless. Water exploded in every direction. Lizardfolk screamed. The ground trembled beneath Mira's feet.
She saw the priestess stagger backward from the blast of sound, clutching the glowing vase, her chant broken into a sharp cry.
And from the shadows, Sarah moved.
She came from below and to the side, fast as light — a blur of motion, her sword low, tucked behind her. Mira saw the angle. Saw the decision before it even happened.
"Come on…" Mira whispered.
Sarah didn't hesitate.
The blade punched into the priestess's chest, clean and fast, angled up under the ribs.
The priestess's eyes widened — shock, pain, rage — and then glazed over.
Sarah let her fall. She didn't even pull the blade free.
She grabbed the vase from her hands— glowing like a deep red captured lightning — and turned. She ran. There was no hiding or stealth. She just ran as fast as she could for where they were.
Lizardfolk around the platform gasped, stumbled, howled. Some dropped to their knees in shock. Others raised weapons. One of them grabbed the priestess's body — sobbing, maybe praying — but it was too late.
Sarah was already across the platform, cutting toward the nearest row of buildings, away from the largest crowds of lizardfolk. The glowing vase pulsed like a beacon against her chest, every step marked by flickers of shifting light.
And then the Thresher King rose.
Its full bulk exploded from the water — jaws open in a voiceless scream, claws tearing stone and air alike. It smashed into the edge of the lake and didn't stop. Pillars shattered. Lizardfolk were flung like leaves. One of the sacrificial ramps buckled under the weight of its tail as it thrashed, blind with pain and fury.
Mira flinched, hands gripping the edge of the tower as stone debris launched skyward like shrapnel.
It was destroying everything.
Buildings crumbled beneath its claws. Water flooded onto stone as it carved deep gouges into the shore. It just raged and Sarah ran.
Mira's eyes followed her from the high vantage point of the tower. She could see lizardfolk turning, shouting, raising weapons. One sprinted at Sarah with a short spear — she ducked low, feinted right, and slammed her shoulder into him mid-run, sending him sprawling. She didn't stop. Another swiped with a curved blade — caught her along the ribs.
Sarah staggered the cut bleeding freely then kept running.
Mira reached instinctively for her bow, fingers already closing around the string to nock an arrow, but she hesitated.
She was already halfway through the maze of buildings, ducking low, the glowing vase still tight in one hand, the other slick with blood. She turned sharply, vaulted over a low stone planter, and disappeared behind a collapsed awning.
She's actually going to make it, Mira thought, stunned.
The Thresher King was destroying the edge of the lake in a rage and the Lizard Folk were fleeing en mass from it. Debris and shrapnel were shooting through the air doing as much damage as the Thresher King itself was.
Below, Mira saw Jace — crouched behind the gate, one hand holding Theo upright, the other readying the path. His eyes flicked constantly between the gate, the wreckage, and the spot where Sarah would appear.
And finally — she did.
Bursting from between two stone huts, cloak torn, one leg limping but fast, a cut leaking red down her shoulder. The blow to hear head had re opened but she didn't slow.
Mira grinned without meaning to. Then reached for the tower's ladder.