Finn tightens his grip on his magic vault as he and his team race towards the frontline. The distant clash of steel, the guttural roars of the predators, and the sharp commands of battle merge into a chaotic symphony. The air is thick with the scent of blood and burnt fur, mingling with the acrid tang of spent magic.

  The town’s archway looms ahead; it’s the last barrier before open land. Melee fighters are already locked in brutal combat. Shield bearers form an unyielding wall, spearmen thrusting between gaps, cutting down the frenzied predators as they hurl themselves at the defence line. Relief surges through Finn; despite the thinning magic barrier, the frontline holds.

  “Formation Three!” a commanding voice bellows.

  The call is for the ranged attackers. Finn moves instinctively. His team scrambles atop the barricade, joining the archers and mages, unleashing relentless fire into the enemy ranks. With a flick of his wrist, Finn summons thick vines, twining around the legs of the most aggressive predators, slowing them down. Visible and enchanted arrows rain down around him, piercing fur and flesh. Fireballs explode, ice spears impale, and streaks of lightning crackle through the fray.

  Lucille stands beside him, her rapid shots finding their mark with precise efficiency. “We’re pushing them back,” she says, voice taut with concentration.

  Finn risks a glance behind him. Risa and Esta stand side by side, eyes closed, hands glowing as they channel their magic into reinforcing the barrier. Sweat beads at Risa’s temples, her breathing shallow, but her gaze firm.

  Countless predators swarm in, their attacks ruthless and disorganised. That’s the only reason the humans still stand—tactics and teamwork make up for their lack of numbers.

  “Alan, swap with Lucille. Aim for that cluster over there.” Finn points to a densely packed group of predators: perfect targets for Alan’s fire magic. Without hesitation, Lucille retreats to catch her breath, and Alan steps up, flames already coiling around his hands.

  “Clementine, keep reinforcing our weapons. Support Lucille and Alan when needed.”

  “Risa, Esta, take turns reinforcing the barrier. We need to conserve your energy for emergencies.”

  Finn takes orders from the broadcast stone stationed nearby. As he coordinates his team's rotation, he also jumps in to help whenever fatigue slows them down.

  “Almost there,” he mutters, willing the battle to end before the barrier collapses entirely. More hunters flood into the fray, their combined efforts tilting the tide. The once-overwhelming predators are faltering. The defensive lines, once barely holding, are now advancing step by step, reclaiming ground.

  Suddenly, a shrill screech tears through the battlefield, so piercing that it silences even the clamour of war. A dark shadow moves across the ground. Finn’s gut twists as he looks up.

  From the storm-laden clouds, winged creatures descend. They are rank-A predators, their hulking forms slicing through the sky with deadly grace. Talons gleam, eyes burn with primal hunger. Below, warriors freeze.

  For a single agonising second, silence hangs over the battlefield. Then, chaos erupts.

  The airborne predators dive. Talons slice through armour like parchment. A fighter screams as he’s lifted off the ground, limbs flailing before being dropped into the chaos below.

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  Panic surges through the ranks. Tight formations unravel as warriors scramble for cover. Mages, who had been conserving their strength for the barrier, turn their spells skyward in desperate retaliation. Fire and lightning lashing at the nightmarish creatures.

  The magic barrier, already weakened, is failing faster than expected. No one had anticipated an air assault.

  Raróg.

  They weren’t supposed to be here. The winged predators had vanished from Mistwood after the Dark Time. Yet now, hundreds of them streak down from the heavens, striking like executioners. Worse still, they seem to know how to strike the weakest points in the barrier. Herds upon herds hurl themselves against the defence.

  The golden light of the barrier flickers, struggles, then finally shatters.

  “Fall back!” The order comes swiftly, but the battlefield is already in disarray.

  Finn doesn’t hesitate. “Risa, go! All of you, get to the Sanctuary!” He grabs Lucille’s arm, yanking her back as talons swipe just inches from her face.

  “We need to cover the retreat!” she shouts, already firing.

  They shoot as they run, arrows and spells streaking through the air. But for every predator they take down, another swoops in to take its place. What had seemed like victory moments ago has turned into a desperate scramble for survival.

  Lucille insists on being the last to retreat. Finn has no choice but to lead the others while she holds the rear. Alan takes point, flames clearing a path through the chaos. Finn covers one flank, Clementine the other, while Risa and Esta remain in the middle.

  “You have thirty minutes to reach the Sanctuary,” the broadcast stone crackles.

  With the barrier gone, predators strike from all directions—land and sky alike. Their only chance is to reach the Sanctuary, the last safe zone still protected by magic.

  Finn’s heart pounds. Nameless knights and hunters fall under the claws and talons of the invaders. There’s no time to help them. The best they can do is run.

  He keeps a keen eye on Risa. Not only does he have to guard his flank, but he also has to block attacks from above.

  A screech cuts through the air. Esta’s scream follows.

  A Raróg dives, talons sinking into her shoulder, lifting her clean off the ground.

  “Esta!” Alan’s voice is raw with panic. He reacts instantly, launching a fireball at the beast’s head. Clementine hurls a metal spear at its eye.

  The Raróg evades their attacks without releasing its grip.

  Finn snarls, summoning vines to bind its wings. The creature burns them away in seconds, but Risa and Lucille react just as fast, arrows and spells hammering into its body.

  The enraged Raróg screeches and flings Esta against a stone wall. Alan catches her, shielding her with his body. Lucille lunges, dagger flashing, scoring a deep cut across the creature’s wing.

  It falters in the air. The others seize the moment, striking its weak points in rapid succession until it crashes to the ground, lifeless.

  “Twenty minutes!” the broadcast stone warns.

  Lucille rushes to Esta. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine, but Alan—” Esta’s voice wavers. Blood pools beneath him. His head wound is severe, and one of his shoulders is twisted unnaturally.

  Finn makes a snap decision. “We’ll carry him. No time to bandage. I’ll carry him and use a healing stone. Lucille, hold the rear.”

  More predators emerge from the shadows.

  “Risa and Clementine, take the lead and clear our path!” Finn orders.

  There’s no time to hesitate. They move.

  Clementine conjures sharp iron spikes, launching them at their pursuers. Risa, despite her inexperience, keeps her eyes ahead, determined not to let the team down. Finn juggles carrying Alan while healing his wounds, while Lucille slashes at anything that gets too close, cutting off their approach.

  “Ten minutes!”

  Seconds stretch into eternity.

  At last, the Sanctuary doors loom before them.

  Finn’s heart pounds as they stagger inside. Behind them, other survivors flood in. The heavy doors slam shut just as another deafening screech echoes from above.

  The real fight hasn’t ended.