The world had shifted for the worse, the balance that had held for centuries now tipping like a boulder on a cliff's edge, waiting for the final push to send it crashing into the abyss below.
Ten days had passed since the fight against the Stonehide Chieftess, ten days of uneasy peace in the western region where Byung's mine stood defiant against the encroaching darkness.
The mine itself had been fortified further—new barricades hammered into place with the ring of metal on metal echoing through the tunnels, goblins working double shifts to stockpile weapons and food, the air thick with the scent of sweat and determination. Maui, Naz, and Naruz had remained, their presence a symbol of the alliance forged in blood and fire, their massive orc frames moving through the cramped spaces with careful grace as they trained goblin recruits in combat techniques.
