Chapter 12: Shadows of the Retreat
The Crags' ravines echoed with tremors as Jason followed Voren's runners back to camp, the Farthalin's crimson glow heavy, whispering: Farthalin. The colossus's fall left his scar throbbing, its vision—colossi rising, lingering like smoke. The colossi—they're waking, their march is inevitable. The system's ping—[Resolve Points: 3100%]—felt distant. 3100% Resolve Points—this is pushing my limits. Lynn clutched the second manuscript, her rune stone dim, green eyes scanning the mist. "The grid's stirring more colossi," she said, voice taut. She's worried. Celia scouted, her dagger a shadow, violet eyes sharp. Ren's warhammer clinked, his red hair tied back, his sister's dream unyielding.
Voren's camp loomed, glyphs pulsing on stone barriers, runners patrolling. It's a haven, but it won't hold for long. Voren met them, his grizzled face grim, glyph-etched armor gleaming. "You woke the grid," he said, eyes on Jason's Farthalin. "And its guardians." He's not blaming. Lynn nodded, satchel tight. "The manuscript shows another statue—Ashen Vale," she said, spreading it on a stone table. Next step. Voren traced the sigils, his voice low: "Ashen Vale's barren, but glyphs linger. Toren's cell holds it." Toren. Jason's scar pulsed, the Farthalin's warmth unsettling. Another ally?
Celia leaned in, her violet eyes narrowing. "Rogues will follow," she said, dagger twirling. She's right. Ren's grip tightened, his voice rough: "My sister saw Kaldor whole. I'll fight for it." He's unbreakable. Lynn unrolled the manuscript, her fingers tracing sigils, her voice steadying. "The grid's nodes are linked—unlocking Ashen Vale might awaken a colossus cluster," she said, eyes widening. A bigger threat. She pointed to a glyph pattern. "This warns of a rift, a tear in Kaldor's power. If it grows, more colossi will rise." We're racing time.
The camp's hum shifted, glyphs flickering. Voren's runners reported: rogue tracks, glyph-beasts stirring. We're exposed. A roar erupted—red sigils flared as a glyph-beast charged, its stone form crashing against the barrier. It's here. Voren shouted orders, runners drawing blades, but the beast's hide deflected their strikes. Jason lunged, the Farthalin's light cutting a glyph, sparks flying. Celia flanked, her dagger piercing another sigil, violet eyes fierce. "Keep it busy!" she yelled. Ren's warhammer slammed the beast's leg, cracking stone, his roar echoing.
A figure emerged—Toren, his blade glyph-etched, scars marking his arms. He's here. He joined the fight, blade slicing a core sigil, the beast staggering. "Voren sent word," Toren growled, voice like gravel. "You're worth it." The team pressed, Lynn's rune flaring, green light binding the beast's limbs. Jason's final strike shattered its glyph, the creature collapsing in dust. The system pinged: [System Insight: Defeated glyph-beast. Reward: 250 Resolve Points. Resolve Points: 3350%.]
Toren sheathed his blade, nodding at Jason. "Ashen Vale's no easy march," he said, eyes hard. A warrior. Lynn gathered the manuscript, her voice firm: "We stabilize the grid there—or it consumes Kaldor." A mission. Jason felt the Farthalin's warmth, its whisper a dark thread—power and peril entwined. He saw Kaldor's fall, colossi rising, and steeled himself. Voren's gaze met his, steady. "Rest, then move at dawn," he said. Celia's dagger stilled, Ren's warhammer gleamed, and the mist thickened, the Farthalin's darkness coiling, pulling Jason toward the next fight.