There was no telling how long it would take. Hours. A day. Maybe more. The Esquiliana forces weren't moving yet—and there was no way to know when they would.
They had time to kill. But not enough to relax.
Velen stepped away from the wall of the basin and pressed his hand to the earth. His mana pulsed low and steady through the rock.
With practiced efficiency, he carved two narrow escape tunnels into the ridge behind them—angled downward and away from the basin's center. The openings were discreet, partially sealed with shaped stone, just wide enough to crawl through. Enough for retreat, or for other needs no one wanted to speak aloud.
He didn't say anything once he finished. He just nodded once and returned to his place near the basin's front arc.
Nobody wandered far.
The team kept close together in the shallow depression. Packs were arranged with practiced spacing. Weapons laid within easy reach. Even those resting did so seated upright, back to stone, eyes half-lidded but alert.
Above them, the mist thickened. Enemy fires still burned in the hollow, low and steady.
The world held its breath.
Brann adjusted his weight against the rough stone, rolling one shoulder to ease the stiffness building in his neck. He glanced around, eyes moving over each of his teammates before settling on Dereth, who was slowly tracing lines in the dirt with one finger.
"You're quiet, kid," Brann said, his tone low but not unkind. "Thinking about going home?"
Dereth blinked, then glanced up, caught a bit off guard. "Huh? No... Just thinking."
"About what?" Alin asked, leaning back against the trench wall. "You're not worrying about the Hollow, are you?"
Dereth hesitated, then managed a half-smile. "Not really. Just... wondering how this'll go. It's my first time on a strike like this."
Mira snorted softly. "Hoping for glory?"
Dereth looked down, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. "Maybe. I mean... if we're being honest, yeah. Aren't we all?"
Brann smirked. "Chasing glory. That's how you end up bleeding out in a ditch."
Dereth gave a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. I get it. But if I'm being honest, I wouldn't mind a bit of glory. Something to prove it mattered that I was here."
Alin glanced at the younger mage, then gave him a light nudge. His own hand rested lightly on the pommel of his short blade, fingers flexing in slow, subconscious patterns. "Just stay sharp. We've got your back."
Brann leaned back, his head resting against the rough stone, eyes drifting to the shifting mist above. "On a serious note, kid. Take your time. If there's one thing that won't change, it's that there will always be another fight. No need to rush it."
Dereth gave a small nod, his gaze dropping back to the dirt at his feet, fingers tightening briefly around the hilt of his blade, his knuckles whitening for a heartbeat before he forced them to relax. "Yeah..."
A brief silence settled over the group again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just legionaries calming their nerves before an upcoming battle.
After a while, Velen spoke, his tone more reflective. "You know... it's strange. I used to think I wanted glory, well a captain's command to be more precise. Thought it would mean security. Prestige. Maybe even peace."
Dereth's eyes shifted toward the older mage. "And?"
Velen exhaled, slow and steady. "And now I just want to live long enough to see my son grow to become a man. Maybe teach him how to be a mage, or at least a good man."
Alin chuckled. "That's a good goal."
Brann leaned back, stretching his legs with a low, satisfied sigh. "Better than chasing glory."
Velen's lips twitched into a rare, faint smile, but he didn't respond.
Another pause. The wind shifted, carrying the faint, bitter tang of old smoke.
Mira's voice cut through the quiet, flat but unguarded. "I don't care about glory. Or titles, for that matter. I just want to be strong enough that no one I care about dies again."
No one said anything for a moment.
Brann looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly. He opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded once, a sharp, silent gesture of understanding.
Alin chimed in. "I don't really have goals. Or if I have one, it's similar to Mira's. I just want to keep people alive. People I know and care about."
Brann stretched his legs, letting out a long breath. "Then you're already ahead of most."
The silence returned, longer this time, but not uncomfortable.
Rifi and Kiva came back a few times, giving more information before slipping back into the shadows.
The team spoke in low tones, occasionally joking, trading quiet barbs and loose banter, the kind of dark humor that kept soldiers from locking up before a fight.
For a full day, nothing happened. Then, late in the evening, Rifi and Kiva returned again.
"They're getting ready," Rifi said, voice low but clear. "I believe tomorrow morning they'll attack, which means we need to be ready at any moment."
The others straightened. Fingers tightened around weapons. Eyes sharpened.
Rifi's gaze swept over each of them. "Rest well tonight. Tomorrow will be a long day."
They nodded, and the conversation faded. Small final checks followed—straps tightened, blades inspected. The last of the nervous energy burned off.
Then, one by one, they slipped into a fitful, soldier's sleep—back to stone, blades within reach, breath slow and measured while every hour someone else stood watch.
The night held them. The Hollow whispered below. And the morning crept closer, with all its waiting fury.
Almost as if promised, the next day arrived, heavy with the weight of impending violence.
Dereth, the last one to stand watch woke the rest of them slowly, the cold seeping into their limbs, joints stiff from the rough stone. Breath misted in the early air, the chill biting against exposed skin. There was no need for words as they pulled themselves upright, checking straps, tightening bracers, testing blades with careful, practiced motions.
The mist had thickened overnight, curling through the basin like ghostly fingers, muffling sound and blurring the edges of the world.
Rifi and Kiva had slipped back into the shadows before dawn, scouting the Hollow's perimeter one final time. The mist greatly enhanced Kiva's stealth, her form blending seamlessly into the shifting gray. They returned just as the sun began to break through the mist, slipping into the basin like ghosts, their movements sharp, controlled, the adrenaline already building.
"They're massing," Rifi said, his voice a low rumble. "Formations are tightening. The mages are moving into position."
Kiva gave a single, sharp nod, her eyes narrowed, breath still steady despite the long, silent hours of stalking through enemy lines. "They're setting up for a full push."
Brann grunted, rolling his shoulders, the faint creak of leather breaking the silence. "It just sucks that we have to wait while our legionaries in the fortification are bleeding for time."
He only said what they all were thinking, it felt wrong but it was necessary.
Rifi was well aware of this. His's jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. "You knew what we were assigned to do. There's no backing off now. We've already risked the Matriarch's life with the bait."
Velen's deep, steady voice cut in, a grounding presence in the rising tension. "We're all aware, Centurion Rifi. It's just Brann blowing off some steam."
Rifi's gaze swept over each of them, his eyes lingering on each face for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "Our time will come. Esquiliana will pay dearly. Let's make sure this counts."
He didnt wait for their responses, as he didnt want to oppose them more, especialy since he himself wanted to charge in, but such was the weight of command. He stepped back into the mist, his form already half-blurred by the thickening fog,.
The others followed, their footsteps soft against the stone, breaths steady, minds clear.
The mist swirled around them, thick and cold, the air buzzing with the tension of a thousand unsaid words.
And then the first shouted commands echoed up from the Hollow below, sharp and disciplined, cutting through the morning fog.
The battle had begun.
They moved carefully, threading through the jagged, broken terrain like shadows. The ground was slick with damp, the air sharp with the scent of wet stone and iron.
They crept closer, as much as the terrain allowed, the distant clash of steel and the echo of mana spells growing louder with every step. The taste of smoke and blood clung to their tongues, each step a silent, calculated gamble against discovery.
A kilometer out, they paused, hidden in the mist that was being empowered with Kiva's shadow mana. It took every ounce of discipline to hold their positions, to wait while their fellow legionaries bled and died in the mud and shattered stone of Gorath's Hollow.
Every breath was a quiet curse. Every heartbeat a silent scream.
One hours into the assault, the gates finally cracked, shattering beneath the weight of a combined push from Esquiliana's frontline mages. The defenders fell back, pulling into the inner keep, the walls splintering, the air vibrating with the clash of spells and the sharp, panicked cries of the dying.
The Esquiliana forces surged forward, pouring through the breach, their formations tightening as they sensed the coming collapse.
This was their moment.
Rifi's fist tightened, sparks dancing briefly along his fingers, a crackling echo of the violence building in his chest as he finnaly started realeasing his lightning mana, empowering his body. He glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with each of his team in turn.
"Move," he whispered, voice sharp, crackling with barely-contained energy.
They moved as one, slipping from cover, the mist swirling in their wake as they closed in on the shattered perimeter of the fortification, blades drawn, mana cores thrumming like the slow, gathering beat of a war drum as their mana's flared.