Chapter 44: Shadow Sprint & Blood Debt
The Nightthral stared down at Mathes with a gaze as heavy as fate itself. Its eyes didn’t just look at him—they claimed him. Mathes knew in that moment... death had already closed on him.
"Crap. Here we go again..." he muttered helplessly as he took a deep breath to face the monster with everything he got.
Somewhere within the safety of the Aetherthorn, beneath the towering canopy of the protective dome, the elven folk clustered around the central fountain. Above its gentle cascade hovered a floating screen—an arcane projection linked directly to the Lantaw outside. The screen shimmered with swirling images from the outside world, its mirrored surface revealing the unfolding danger beyond the barrier.
Dozens of anxious faces had their faces glued to the screen —elders, children, warriors with clenched fists. Their eyes were wide, their breaths held. Through the orb, they watched Mathes standing alone before the Nightthral, a golden figure against the backdrop of looming death.
Even without the Lantaw, he could feel them watching. Their hope rested on his shoulders—and hope was a crushing weight.
Mathes turned sharply toward the distant dome, the silken shimmer of the Aetherthorn’s barrier glowing faintly under the moonlight. He inhaled deeply and let out a shout, his voice amplified by the wind, deep and commanding like a rolling storm:
"Everyone stay inside the Aetherthorn! No one leaves unless I say so!"
His words weren’t just an order—they were a wall, thrown up in desperation to protect the people behind it.
The sound traveled across the sacred branches and straight into the domed canopy.
Within the Aetherthorn’s dome, the Sylvanthir tribes stirred.
"What about Leon’do and Anas’cia? They’re still out there!"