He reached the first village gasping, blood threading down his shin. “The Crimson Storm,” he choked out. “Go to the caves. Now.”
At mile nine, the ground shook. The mountain’s old flank gave way behind him, swallowing the trail he’d just crossed. He did not look back. fasltad
The village elder touched his arm. “You are not the fasltad you once were, old friend.” He reached the first village gasping, blood threading
His vision tunneled. The villages ahead—three hamlets strung along the river fork—were still dark. No evacuation had been called. He pushed harder, feeling something tear deep in his calf. He reached the first village gasping