The cavern was quiet once more. Rhys stood there, breathing heavily, his body aching from the strain of the fight.
He looked at the massive pile of rubble that had once been the cavern's roof. He had won, but it had been a desperate, costly victory.
He walked over to Emma. She was leaning against the one remaining solid wall of the hollowed-out skull, her face pale, a thin trickle of blood coming from her nose.
She had used a massive amount of her mental energy to create the single, crucial distraction he needed.
"We did it," she whispered, a look of disbelief on her face.
"Yes," he said. He looked towards the east, in the direction of the faint light coming from the new hole the Behemoth had smashed in the skull.
That was their path forward, towards the distant promise of the Whispering Mire. "But the desert is not finished with us yet."
