Meanwhile, in the hidden tunnel network, the evacuation had come to a grinding halt.
Elves shouted warnings as the corridor ahead trembled, mana beasts converging from side passages and collapsed ceilings, drawn by the mass of fleeing villagers like moths to flame.
The warriors raised their weapons, ready to fight—but they were cornered, outnumbered, and outmatched.
And then… Kirellion stepped forward.
The old elf elder, so often dismissed as frail and past his prime, raised his staff and placed it gently on the ground. His eyes closed, lips moving in a deep, guttural chant in the Old Tongue.
The ground hummed. Vines shivered.
The very walls of the tunnel trembled with ancient mana.
And then, with a wave of his hand, a burst of pure forest energy exploded outward in a circular shockwave, washing over the approaching beasts.
The beings stumbled, their muscular bodies spasming before crumbling into piles of flesh on the ground—fainted from the primal force of nature herself.
Luenor and Arwin stood dumbfounded, jaws agape.
Arwin muttered quietly under his breath, "I have never...I have never seen anything like that."
Luenor could feel his heart pounding—not out of fear, but wonderment.
Kirellion turned his head slightly in their direction, glowing softly with mana, a tired, yet knowing smile on his lips.
"Move while you can," the elder said softly.
The elves lumbered forward, dragging the dazed children with them, as they hurried toward the exit, the deafening roars of Valdrak and Thalanar battling, and the wall (which they were in) rumbling behind them.
The forest was alive, and the war had just begun.
__
With every step the elves pressed forward into the twisting tunnels of the fortress wound with roots, the feeling of confinement grew tighter as they ushered the villagers into safety. But the farther they went, the more the horrible sounds of the oncoming beasts became apparent, bone-shaking roars that rattled the very stone beneath their feet.
Arwin's fists clenched and his gait slowed as he glanced at the warriors leading the charge. He could feel the grip of cramps in his jaw and sweat rolling down his forehead.
He can't just keep running.
Not again.
Not while Thalanar and the others were stalling the oncoming beasts with their lives.
"Faren." Arwin whispered as he stepped closer to elven warrior guarding their rear. "I want a sword."
Faren didn't even turn to look at him. "No."
Arwin grinned his teeth.
"I can fight. I have fought with the Surevas my whole life. I-"
"You're human," Faren snapped under his breath, keeping his eyes forward. "You just die in the way."
Luenor recoiled at the words but said nothing. Hera stepped forward, her tone sharp.
"He's not like other humans," she assured, bold. "Arwin was my Richard's shield-bearer. He fought in battles that you can't imagine. He fought with my mother when the gates had opened. He is... he is one of us."
At last, Faren turned, glaring at her, glaring at both of them.
The growls of the beasts drew ever closer, louder.
Faren hesitated.
He cursed under his breath in his own tongue and drew his curved blade from his hip. His knuckles we white as he held the hilt before finally thrusting it toward Arwin.
"You die, that's on you."
Arwin gripped the sword and turned it over, nodding once firmly.
Ahead, Kirellion walked with his staff against his knee, beside the injured. Vaeryn was still shaking from the residual poision in her blood, half-suspended by two warriors. The incicident with the burned shield-bearer left highlights on one of the other warriors chests. Healing was slow, and in some cases better to be dead than breathing in this condition.
Not far behind was a tiny elven girl, not even twelve, who followed silently, her bewildered gaze locked on the injured warriors and her tiny hands fluttering.
She paused at Kirellion, gingerly tugging on his robe.
"....Grandfather." Her words barely escaped her trembling mouth. "Where is... Father?"
The warriors nearest Kirellion went still and turned to each other, and none were able answer her at all. Their silence imparted more meaning to the girl than any answer could tell. She stared at the blood covered armor, darted to Vaeryn's poisoned skin, and rested sorrowfully at the charred remains of the fallen warrior.
Soon tears threatened to slip, while biting her lip.
Luenor, who was never far from the back took everything in and felt part of him twist in his chest. Slowly he made a reconciling step toward her, ignoring the look of warning Arwin directed at him.
He knelt down beside her, voice soft.
"Your father… is fighting," Luenor whispered. "For you… for all of us."
The girl sniffed, looking up at him with teary eyes.
"But… what if he doesn't come back?"
Luenor swallowed hard. He didn't have the answer.None of them did.
But still, he placed his hand on her shoulder, gently squeezing.
"Then we keep moving," he whispered. "And when we're safe… we wait."
The girl nodded shakily, clutching her arms around herself as she continued forward, Luenor quietly following.
Kirellion, watching them, didn't say a word. But the weight of his earlier magic was taking its toll—his hands trembled, his breaths growing shallower.
And then, all of a sudden—
Kirellion opened his eyes; his staff slamming against the ground.
"Take cover!" he yelled.
A flood of pure mana surged through the tunnel walls, warping the very air around them. Cracks spidered along the roots and stone as it barreled towards them.
The warriors had just enough time to pull the villagers and children against the walls, when the mana wave broke loose, rocking the tunnel to its foundation.