By dawn, the survivors had been tallied.
Of the ten thousand who had marched to this camp, fewer than four thousand remained. Half were wounded. Supplies enough for perhaps two weeks. No beasts of burden, no siege engines, no walls. Only earth and stone above them.
The numbers spread like a shadow. Whispers turned to sobs, sobs to silence. Some men broke down entirely, staring into nothing. Others clung to scraps of faith, muttering prayers.
And for the first time since the war began, the human camp had no banner raised.
—
That night, as torches burned low and men slept fitfully, Ydrien sat awake, her back against the cavern wall. Her silver eyes stared into the dark beyond the light.
There was something there.
Not in the tunnels, not yet. But in the land above, pressing down like a weight upon her chest. A rhythm. A heartbeat. The same pulse she had felt when the mutants attacked, stronger now, closer.
It was no mindless tide.
Something was guiding them.
