The battlefield holds its breath.
Two thousand soldiers behind a wall of shields. The desert ahead—flat, dark, and vibrating with the approach of something heavier than Phase One.
I look down at Eventide in my hand. Something clicks.
[Eventide — Devoured Soul: 47/50]
The Shadow Shellcats and Coral Wivers from Phase One fed her well. Forty-seven out of fifty. Three souls away from whatever happens next.
How did I forget to check this?
Growth Relics aren't something I've had the luxury of carrying before. The mechanics are foreign—I've read about them in archives, heard veterans describe the thresholds, but I've never held one through an evolution cycle.
Three more. Tonight might do it.
I sheathe the thought. The Red Tide's rumble grows; a primal hunger that crawls from the soles of my feet and settles in my bone.
Above me, the ballistae crews crank their weapons into position. The repeating crossbows are loaded with the black thorn bolts we harvested an hour ago.
