The Ravine of the Ancients was a natural trap. Its steep walls, fifteen meters high, offered protection against flank attacks, but its narrow entrance and cul-de-sac also made it a mousetrap. As night fell, plunging the ravine into a bluish darkness that the mist made stifling, about twenty students looked at each other, united by fear but divided by pride.
The team leaders - or those who had proclaimed themselves such - gathered in the center of the ravine. The air was electric. There was Loïd, arrogant and self-confident, flanked by Elara and Kaito. Another leader, Marcus, a stout boy with a C rank blessing (Skin of Peter), represented two teams that had joined his team. And there was Hakime, calm but determined, with the silent support of his team.
"Pretty much wasted time," said Loïd, the first to break the tense silence. "The situation is simple. They arrive through the entrance. We are forming a wall of fire and power. My team and I hold the front line. Others can clean up the few that would pass by."
Marcus scolded, crossing his massive arms. "Your team? Why do you decide? My skin is as hard as your fire is hot. They form a wall with me in the center, and everyone supports me."
"A static wall is useless," retorted Lyra, who had advanced alongside Hakime. His cold voice cut like a glass blade." They will overwhelm us with numbers. It takes remote attacks to weaken them before contact, and mobile reserves to plug gaps."
"And who commands these "mobile reserves"?" sneered Loïd, staring at Hakime. "You and your small group? You barely survived an Ogre."
"We defeated him," Hakime corrected, without raising his voice. "And we are all here for the same reason: to survive. It requires coordination, not domination."
The egos clashed, sterile. Loïd wanted glory and control. Marcus wanted to prove the value of his defense. Neither wanted to submit to the other. Hakime proposed a collaborative strategy, but it was perceived as a weakness.
"Listen!" interjected Arthur impatiently. "We don't care who commands! They're coming! You just have to agree on who does what!"
"Exactly," Hakime continued. "Loïd, your fire is effective at a distance. You should be with the other attackers at a distance on the heights, on the scree at the entrance to the ravine. Marcus, your defense is perfect for the front. Form a wall of shields with Conor and the other defenders. My team and the other mobile teams will be in reserve to intervene where it weakens."
It was a sensible plan. But the mistrust was too great.
"I will not obey the orders of an orphan of unknown rank," said Elara Griffin coldly, speaking for the first time. His voice was as cold as his alleged power.
"And I will not leave my safety in the hands of anyone who thinks brute force is the only solution," retorted Hakime, holding his gaze.
Time was running out. The discussions were going round and round, sterile. No consensus emerged. Each chef was too proud, too suspicious, or too scared to give ground. There were disputes about the exact position of each, about the distribution of forces, about who would have the "honour" to hold the front line.
Suddenly, a cry from the entrance to the ravine startled them all. A scout that a team had posted was hurtling down the slope, his face distorted by terror.
"They're coming!" he yelled, out of breath. "Hundreds! Goblins, slimes... and something big behind it!"
Panic took over the ravine. The arguments instantly faded, replaced by a visceral fear. The time to organize had passed.
Loïd swore and ran to the entrance with his team, unilaterally deciding to take a stand on the scree that Hakime had suggested. Marcus, grunting, hastily gathered the defenders to form a fragile line at the base of the ravine. The other teams, including Hakime's, found themselves distraught in the middle, with no clear orders, regrouping by affinity rather than tactics.
The rumble came next. A deep, thud that made the ground vibrate. It was not the chaotic cry of a horde, but the rhythmic pounding of hundreds of feet. Then they saw them.
A tide of grey and green silhouettes swept through the narrow passage of the ravine entrance. Lethargic Goblins, but their eyes shone with an unusual glow, as if driven by a sinister emergency. Corrosive slimes waved between their legs, and paralyzing fungus, carried by the horde, released clouds of twinkling spores into the night air.
The battle for the Ravine of the Ancients began in perfect confusion. Loïd and the other ranged attackers launched their powers - fire, ice, projectiles of all kinds - into the mass, causing losses but without slowing down the inexorable advance. Marcus and Conor's line of defense was immediately overwhelmed, as the defenders struggled desperately to keep their training.
Hakime, Arthur, Conor, and Lyra found themselves caught in the fray, fighting back to back against a seemingly endless enemy. The plan had failed before it had even existed. They were alone, surrounded by chaos and screams, facing a tide whose end they could not see. The night of terror had just begun.