"I didn't know I was falling out of the sky," Sylric muttered. "I was still yelling at the horned butterfly freak and then boom—light, portal, trees, elf."

Lindarion sat up again, rubbing his jaw. "You saw her?"

"Yeah," Sylric nodded. "The one with the wings. She was there, flapping and posturing. Then the guy with the white hair showed up. Portal opened under my feet. That's all I remember."

Lindarion's eyes narrowed. "They're moving fast."

Sylric sat up too, frowning. "Did they do this to you?"

"Maeven shoved me through a portal like I was trash he was done with."

Sylric blinked. "…Rude."

"Very."

They were both quiet for a second, listening to the trees. No one else around. No mutants. No screams.

Sylric raked a hand through his hair. "You think they know we're here?"

"I think they're too arrogant to care."

Ashwing made a low grumble. "I think next time we bring a damn anchor."

Sylric sighed. "Any idea where we are?"

Lindarion glanced around again, reaching for the faint pulse of mana in the woods. "Close to the fallback line. East of the camp by about a mile."

Sylric gave a low whistle. "Nice aim, portal."

"Coincidence," Lindarion muttered. "They could've thrown us anywhere. We got lucky."

"Or they want us to think we did."

Lindarion stood, brushing pine needles from his coat. "Either way, we're not staying here."

Sylric groaned as he followed. "Good. My ass still hurts."

Ashwing flapped up to a branch and pointed with his snout. "If we cut west and circle the ridge, we can get back to the main camp without being spotted."

Lindarion nodded. "Let's move."

Sylric hesitated. "What about Luneth?"

Lindarion's jaw tightened. "She's still with them."

"Then why the hell aren't we charging in there?"

"Because this time, I'm not walking into another damn trap."

They looked at each other for a second, frustration in both faces.

But they understood.

One step at a time.

Lindarion turned back toward the slope and started moving, boots crunching soft over dirt and moss. Sylric followed behind, muttering curses under his breath.

'We're coming,' Lindarion thought. 'Hold on, Luneth.'

—

By the time they reached the fallback camp, dusk had dropped over the treetops like a dirty blanket. The air smelled like old fire and tired steel. It wasn't quiet, too many people, too much tension, but it wasn't chaos either.

It was the sound of people holding on.

Jaren stood near the southern ridge, arms crossed, speaking with two officers and a map spread over a crate. His coat was soaked through at the hem, and dried blood marked one sleeve. Not his, probably.

Lindarion stepped straight through the low brush and didn't wait for a greeting.

"We found her."

Jaren looked up. His eyes narrowed immediately. "Where?"

Sylric dropped into step beside Lindarion, panting. "Underground complex. Ruins beneath the inner city. They've got some kind of whole-ass fortress down there."

Jaren didn't blink. "And?"

"They've taken her," Lindarion said. "Luneth's still alive, but she's not with the mutants anymore. She's with—"

He paused, jaw clenched.

Sylric jumped in. "She's with that thing. The one from the rune site. Dythrael. The one that came outta the ground like it owned the place."

Jaren's expression stayed flat, but the twitch in his jaw said enough.

"I figured," he said quietly.

Lindarion took a breath. "It's worse than we thought. They're not just attacking. They're organizing. They've got leaders, ranks, systems in place."

Sylric nodded. "One of them looked like a noble, swear to gods. Introduced herself like a court lady. Horns, wings, attitude. Said her name was Alverine."

"The others weren't just muscle either," Lindarion added. "One of them was tuning magic mid-combat, like it was a flute. They're not brutes. They know what they're doing."

Jaren exhaled through his nose. "You're sure Luneth's alive?"

Lindarion nodded. "Yes."

"She looked scared," Sylric added, quieter. "But not broken."

Jaren leaned over the crate, both palms pressed flat against the splintered wood. He stared at the map like it might give him a better answer than what he'd just heard.

'He's pissed,' Lindarion thought. 'But he's thinking. That's something.'

Finally, Jaren looked up again. "And how did you two make it back?"

"Portal," Sylric muttered. "Maeven threw us out like leftovers."

Jaren blinked once. "Maeven?"

"White-haired bastard with glasses. Acts like a teacher, hits like a mountain. He was working with Dythrael. They're coordinating."

"Maeven pushed me through a portal," Lindarion said flatly. "Like he didn't even care. Like I wasn't worth killing."

"That's not comforting," Sylric muttered.

"Not meant to be."

Jaren stood up straighter, brushing dirt off his gloves. "Alright. That confirms the worst."

"And that is?" Lindarion asked.

"They're not just trying to destroy Caldris. They're testing something. And they've still got pieces on the board we haven't even seen yet."

Sylric leaned against a tree, arms crossed. "So what now?"

Jaren looked at them both.

"You eat," he said. "Then you sleep. Because if you're going back in there, you'll need to be at full strength. We hit back in the morning."

Lindarion blinked. "You're sending us back?"

"No," Jaren said. "I'm going with you. We move in squads. Trained ones. You'll be with me. We locate Luneth, hit hard, get out. No detours."

Sylric grunted. "You sure you're not gonna babysit us the whole way?"

Jaren just stared at him. "If you step out of line, I'll break your legs myself."

Sylric raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fair."

Lindarion didn't speak right away. He was still watching Jaren, gauging him.

'He's planning something,' he thought. 'Not just tactics. Bigger than that.'

But he didn't press.

Instead, he just nodded. "Alright."

"Good," Jaren said. "Tent row six. You'll find supplies, warm food, and hopefully blankets that don't smell like dog piss."

He turned back toward his officers.

Sylric sighed and looked at Lindarion. "You think we've got a real shot at getting her out?"

Lindarion didn't answer immediately.

Then: "We don't have a choice."