Night fell over the swamp. Normally, the darkness was complete, but tonight, the eastern horizon was illuminated by the unnatural, blinding golden glow of Aurelius's massive encampment across the Black River. To the west, the smog-choked skies of Bastion glowed violet and orange from the war-forges.
Root-Father stood at the edge of the city.
He watched the Troglodytes laughing cruelly as they planted sharpened Star-Iron spikes into the mud. He smelled the horrific, unnatural stench of the Crawler's Kiss acid being loaded into clay pots.
This wasn't nature. This was an abomination. And the Golden Army was an even greater one. The swamp was going to be caught in a meat grinder between two ruthless gods.
If he stayed, his Plant-Kin would be used as living shields. They would be chopped, burned, and melted to buy Red a few extra hours of survival against thirteen thousand soldiers.
Root-Father made his choice.
