The white pillar shone in the distance like the only mercy left inside the Vault, yet reaching it felt almost impossible.
Sage and the others were no longer running with the strength of people chasing freedom, but with the broken desperation of people who knew death was close enough to breathe on their backs.
Their legs were heavy, their lungs burned, their mana was almost empty, and every step across the ancient wilderness felt as if the roots, stones, and broken earth beneath them were trying to drag them down.
Gregor's silver armor was scratched and stained with dirt, his long green hair sticking to his face as he forced himself forward while keeping one hand ready to steady Lyana whenever she stumbled.
Brutus looked like a walking mountain that had finally begun to crack, his axe dragging low in one hand while the other supported an injured adventurer who could barely keep his feet moving.
