The Hollow's edge was still burning behind them. Fissures glowed faintly in the distance, while coughing out smoke and ash where the corpses of the husks had fallen. But the moans had quieted, at least for the night.
The Crest sat around a small fire, its flame flickered low against the unnatural chill. It was not enough to drive the cold from their bones, but it gave them a circle of light and out here, that was as close to safety as they could hope for.
Kelvin lowered himself onto a flat stone, his spear laid across his knees. His hands were raw, blistered from gripping it too tightly in battle. Xerion coiled just behind him with his body glowing faintly with ember like pulses.
Darius had stripped the heavier parts of his armor, leaving Rhoam pressed against his side like a wall of heat. Even so, he shivered each time the Hollow's winds blew pass him.
