The storm broke—but its silence carried worse omens.

In the caves, webs shuddered with unseen skittering, beetles charged with brutal horns, and flame cut through friend and foe alike. Above ground, gray burrowers burst from the soil with rusted blades, and conscience drove the party deeper into a swamp where even crocodiles clamped to kill. Every mile brought harsher choices, heavier wounds, and signs of blood that refused to fade.

By the time they reached the cave mouth, the trail was certain. Survivors remained. But survival would demand its price.