The wind howled through the jagged ridges surrounding the hidden warehouse, carrying the faint scent of scorched earth and distant battle smoke. Liam crouched near the cracked window, his muscles coiled tight from the endless fighting. Every breath reminded him of the weight on his shoulders—the lives depending on him, the mistakes that had led them here. 'Citra... I won't let this fall apart. Not after everything.'
Ellara stepped closer, her dark elven grace shadowed by exhaustion. The queen's usual poise had cracked, revealing the strain beneath. "Liam," she said quietly, her voice low and urgent, "our revoruses are dwindling faster than we feared. The supply lines are cut. If we don't break the surrounding circle soon, the tree itself will wither. Our people... they won't survive another week like this."
