The wave of mana flowed down the passage like a mammoth wave, unseen but somehow felt. Like a surface tumbling beneath a delicious wave. The air itself pulsed. All over the cave, glowing moss flickered and dimmed out. The passage cracked and then exploded in several areas, sending a shaft of blinding light everywhere and anywhere in its path.
Screams filled the chamber a moment later.
Some elves were holding their heads, blood streaming from their noses and collapsing on the ground. Others fainted straight down onto the ground, overcome by the rush, and a few, particularly the elderly and novice mages, just stopped breathing.
The orderly evacuation line shifted back to chaos.
Some of the healers and remaining warrior types hurried to the injured - muttering charms, spreading mana salves, trying to whisper life back to those slipping away - while children thrashed on the ground crying with fear and grown adults wheezed and moaned in pain and dying. The sound of kids wailing intermingled with those dying and distress of everyone else created an echoing coffin of doom in the cave.
Hera picked her way through the noise and panic.
She darted toward a healer kneeling beside a small elven child—no older than five—who lay unconscious, his body trembling violently.
"Help me!" the healer barked, not looking up.
"I can help!" Hera called, kneeling beside him.
The elf flinched at first, eyes narrowing when he realized she was human. But seeing the way her hands moved, steady and calm, he relented.
"Keep him breathing. Channel light mana if you can."
Hera placed her hand on the child's chest, focusing on warmth, not magic. "I don't have mana, but I know how to calm a panicked heart."
Slowly, her touch and voice steadied the child's breathing. The convulsions stopped. The boy opened his eyes, groggy but alive.
The healer glanced at Hera again, something unreadable in his eyes—respect or perhaps the fading edge of prejudice.
Others noticed too.
A few of the elves, still recovering from the wave, looked toward Hera not with suspicion… but with silent gratitude.
__
In the chaos, Luenor lost track of Arwin, likely because he went ahead to assist the warriors getting rid of remains from the beasts.
As he stumbled through the patchy line, he saw Lyssari, curled against the wall of the tunnel, pale and quiet, she must've been knocked back from the blast. Her braid was undone, an injured and bloody shoulder.
Luenor hurried to her side. "Are you hurt?"
She blinked at him through her tear glazed eyes, she slowly began to recognize the human boy.
"I'm… fine," she said, her voice cracking. "I just…"
She peered back towards the back of the tunnel, curling her fingers into her palms.
"They said my father… stayed behind. To fight the stone beast."
Without hesitation, Luenor offered his hand. "He's buying us time. That means we have to get out."
She hesitated—then took his hand.
There was a shimmer that blasted through his chest the moment she touched him.
A pulse. A warmth. The mana wave—whatever it was, it left something inside of him.
He felt lighter. He felt clearer. He felt stronger.
But he did not dwell on it.
At the back of the line, Kirellion was leaning heavily on his staff, his face looking pale. With his breath coming in abrupt, shallow rasps, he knew that the magic he had constructed earlier had taken too much out of him to rest, but there was no time for rest just yet.
He scanned the surroundings.
There were too few warriors left. Too many had been cut down, too many were injured. The villagers were moving even slower now; grief and fatigue were heavy upon them with every step they took.
And then—he felt it.
Another tremor.
His eyes widened.
"...It's coming again," he murmured.
The old elf stumbled forward, driving his staff into the ground.
Vines and roots burst through the tunnel walls closing the crevice, wrapping around rock and sulk hardening, writhing into a behemoth. The edifice's scale stretched high and wide, bolstered with spells of the ancient tongue. Its exterior was a slipstream of runes, the protective magics ebbed like a heartbeat.
The moment the last rune locked into place, Kirellion collapsed to one knee.
"Grandfather!" Lyssari cried, rushing to him.
Luenor grabbed her arm to slow her down—but he moved toward Kirellion too, kneeling beside the older man.
Kirellion managed a smile, sweat rolling off him brow. "You must go now," he rasped.
"But you can't—" Lyssari started, her voice quivering.
"I can," he said, more forcefully. "Because I must. Another surge is coming. Wounded and children will not be able to clear the passage before it reaches them..."
There was no need to finish.
Luenor swallowed hard. "Then, we will buy you time."
Kirellion placed his hand on Luenor's shoulder; "No, the young ones must live."
He pushed himself back to his feet through will alone and stood, once again tall before the wall of vines, his staff glimmering again—though it now was dimmer, and more fragile.
"Go," he said again. "And if the forest lives through this... then remember who died so that you could see it."
Luenor locked eyes with him—which remained a moment too long—and nodded.
He turned to Lyssari, who was frozen in place.
Kirellion looked to her last, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Your father would have done the same."
Lyssari choked back a sob but nodded. She reached out and hugged him briefly.
Then, hand in hand with Luenor, she turned and ran.
Behind them, the vines began to shake.
And the roots of the forest held firm once more.