Artemia looked. Gracier was right. A fresh wave, larger and more organized than any before, led by several imposing, shadowy figures that radiated an aura of chilling command, was hammering at the weakest point. The remaining soldiers there were being overwhelmed. A cold dread seeped into Artemia's heart. They were losing. Despite their power, despite their sacrifices, they were being drowned by sheer numbers.
A cry of pain tore through the din. One of the last Skyreach captains, a grizzled veteran who had fought alongside them for hours, was struck down, a shadowy tendril piercing his chest. Artemia felt a surge of cold fury, an icy despair that threatened to consume her. She faltered, her next lightning bolt sputtering weakly.
