The rebels stumbled into the southern path, a jagged trail carved into the cliffs centuries ago. It was narrow, uneven, and slick with moss, the kind of passage no sane army would use—yet it was their only chance.
“Keep moving!” Mira’s voice carried above the scramble, sharp with urgency. Her daggers were sheathed now, both hands helping drag wounded fighters along. Each step echoed with the thunder still rumbling behind them. Kael’s storm had not ceased, and the ground itself seemed to vibrate with the clash between him and Solas.
Elira, blades crimson with blood, cut down a Dominion soldier who had tried to block their way at the path’s entrance. “They’ll follow,” she panted. “The Dominion won’t let prey slip this easily.”
Joren grunted, shifting the weight of the half-conscious rebel
