The Pillar's light continued to rise, piercing the poisoned skies like a spear.
It was beautiful — but it was also a beacon.
A warning.
Something was coming.
I felt it through the ground first — a low, trembling vibration, as if the bones of the world shivered in fear.
Finn heard it too.
His face paled as he slung his crossbow over his shoulder.
"We need to move," he said tightly.
I nodded.
No time to rest.
We descended from the basin quickly, picking our way across shattered stones and brittle ground.
The mist parted before the Pillar's light, but beyond that halo, it thickened into a roiling wall of shadow.
The Wastes did not appreciate being wounded.
And now, they would lash out.
Ahead, jagged hills loomed, their silhouettes like broken teeth against the horizon.
Finn pointed to a narrow ravine slicing through them.
"There," he said. "Shortcut out of this cursed place."
I didn't question him.
Trust was survival.
We ran.
The mist closed behind us like a living thing, whispering threats in voices not our own.
Shadows moved at the edges of sight — twisted things, hunched and clawed, following, hunting.
But they kept their distance.
For now.
I glanced back once.
Above the basin, something vast shifted within the mist.
A shape too large to comprehend.
Dozens of tendrils or limbs or wings unfolded slowly, blotting out what little light remained.
The Herald's true servants.
The Wastes were waking up.
We sprinted into the ravine.
Sharp stones tore at our boots.
Narrow ledges threatened to give way beneath every step.
Above us, the sky darkened further, until it was less a sky and more a ceiling of writhing ash.
Breathing became harder.
My ribs, fractured from the earlier battle, screamed with every breath.
Still, we pushed on.
There was no choice.
The path narrowed into a twisting gorge barely wide enough for two men to pass shoulder-to-shoulder.
Walls of cracked black stone rose on either side, slick with foul-smelling moss.
Finn pulled ahead, nimble despite the rough terrain.
"We're close!" he called back.
But even as he spoke, the mist surged into the ravine.
From its depths, new horrors emerged.
Slinking beasts of bone and sinew, their eyes burning with stolen light.
Six-legged things with mouths splitting their torsos.
Whisperhounds.
Corruption given form.
Finn cursed and loosed a bolt into the first one, dropping it with a wet shriek.
I moved to cover him, the relic-sword flashing silver in the dimness.
The Whisperhounds came fast —
not individually strong, but relentless.
For every one we felled, two more closed in.
"Keep moving!" I shouted.
We fought as we retreated, each step a desperate gamble.
Blood — black and red — splattered the stone.
The ravine twisted sharply, revealing a crumbling archway embedded in the cliffside.
Ancient stone, carved with the sigil of the Wardens — a stylized sun crossed by a sword.
My heart leapt.
The Old Warden Sanctum.
Hidden even in the age before the Fall.
If we could reach it, we could regroup.
Plan.
Survive.
Finn saw it too.
He redoubled his pace, carving down a Whisperhound that lunged at him.
I followed, the relic-sword an extension of my will.
We reached the archway together.
Finn shoved the heavy stone door inward, and we stumbled into darkness.
The air inside was cooler, stiller.
The door began to swing shut behind us —
But one last hound hurled itself at the gap.
Its claws scraped across my armor, narrowly missing flesh.
I drove the relic-sword through its skull and kicked the corpse back into the mist.
The door slammed shut with a booming finality.
Silence fell.
I collapsed against the wall, gasping.
Finn slumped down opposite me, face pale but alive.
For several long minutes, we said nothing.
Just breathing.
Listening to the pounding of blood in our ears.
Finally, Finn chuckled hoarsely.
"Next time," he said, "you're picking the route."
I managed a weak grin.
Then I looked around.
We were inside a vast, ruined hall.
Once, it had been glorious — soaring columns, intricate murals, relics of a bygone era.
Now, it was a tomb.
Dust hung thick in the air.
Broken weapons and shattered armor littered the floor.
Statues of long-forgotten Wardens lined the walls, their faces worn smooth by time.
But the power here had not entirely died.
I could feel it — a slow heartbeat beneath the stone, ancient and waiting.
Somewhere deeper within the Sanctum, secrets waited.
Answers.
Perhaps even allies.
Or weapons.
We would need them all.
Because outside these walls, the Wastes were howling.
And the real war was just beginning.