Chapter 60: Elves, Assemble!
The Nighthral’s voice thundered through the forest like a wrathful god, booming with such primal rage that even the skies seemed to darken in fear.
The tremors in its voice traveled through bark and bone alike. Skitterbolts abandoned their tunnels. Needlewings bees fled their hives. All animals knew that real trouble was coming. The Runewood itself held its breath.
Beneath the cloak of foliage and illusion, two figures darted through the trees.
Anast’cia ran like the wind, her breath shallow, her legs surging with magical wind vortexes. Strapped to her back was the broken, bloodied body of Mathes, and despite his weight and condition, she moved like a lightning bolt through the undergrowth.
"Come on, faster!" she hissed through gritted teeth, sweat pouring from her brow. "How the hell am I outrunning you when I’m the one carrying him!?"
Behind her, Leondo stumbled forward, his face pale with exertion. His robes were soaked in sweat, and in his hands was a glowing, rune-carved stone. He wasn’t built for this—not like Anast’cia—but his mind was still sharp, and his pockets jingled with small circular orbs covered in red runic patterns.
As he ran, he hurled the orbs into the underbrush and muttered incantations under his breath.
Each orb was a miniature bomb designed to stun or repel Night Stalkers—his personal and best creations aside from his traps.
"Don’t mind me!" he called out, voice shaky. "Just keep running!"
"And then what!?" Anast’cia snapped. "So I have to come back and rescue your sorry ass!?"
"The Aetherthorn’s just fifty branches away! That thing won’t catch up—!"