The air was thick with tension as a distant cry of a bird echoed across the gray sky. Vanthelis stood at the edge of the dark forest, his eyes scanning the shadowy trees. He turned to Ishlar, whose steps were slow and staggered. Ishlar was limping—almost tiptoeing—his side still wrapped in stained cloth from the battle with the murlocs. Every movement made him wince, but he stubbornly refused to rest.
"Ishlar, let me take a look at your wounds before we move on," Vanthelis said, his voice firm.
Ishlar grunted but relented, sitting on a nearby rock. Dorothy rushed over with a bowl of warm water and some salvaged herbs. As she gently cleaned the blood-caked cloth, Ishlar flinched but stayed silent. Vanthelis knelt beside him, inspecting the wound with furrowed brows.
"It's not deep, but it needs to be cleaned every few hours," he said. "We can't afford you falling from infection."
Once Ishlar was tended to, Vanthelis stood and began outlining their next steps.
"We don't have the resources we need yet, but we can't afford to wait either," he muttered. "Ishlar, gather as much wood as you can. We'll need traps, and I want one more Ziggurat built—close this time. The forest isn't safe anymore."
Ishlar nodded and hobbled off, a hatchet in hand. Hours passed before he returned, panting and sweating but with 57 pieces of lumber stacked behind him.
"It's not much," Ishlar said. "But it's all I could gather without pushing too far."
Vanthelis sighed. "It'll have to do."
He turned to Haben. "Begin the summoning. We need another Ziggurat."
Haben bowed his head and raised both hands. Strange syllables left his mouth, arcane and guttural, as a green glow surged around his arms. A pulse of energy surged into the ground.
-50 Lumber
Not enough gold. Accessing master's coin pouch…
-150 Gold Coins
Remaining: 10 Gold Coins
Vanthelis flinched. "That's almost all we had left…"
As the ritual completed, a great claw burst from the ground, encircling a plot of land. Slowly, a Ziggurat emerged from beneath the soil, its structure made of obsidian and black bone. Dark smoke curled around its spires, and faint whispers echoed from within its walls.
The necropolis, not far from it, moaned in its usual eerie tones, unsettling the children nearby.
"We'll make some weapons with what we have left," Vanthelis said. "We can't build a graveyard yet. I don't have enough."
He handed the remaining lumber—7 logs—to Ishlar, who crafted crude wooden spears. They were rough and uneven, splinters sticking out, but they would do in a fight.
Vanthelis turned to the children. "Everyone else, into the necropolis. Only seven of us will guard the area: myself, Ishlar, Haben, Dorothy, and three of the eldest children."
The older three stepped forward—two boys and a girl, all 13 years old. Their faces were pale, but they nodded in grim determination.
The remaining children scurried into the necropolis. Inside, the air was thick with necrotic energy, the low groans and sighs from the walls making them uneasy. One boy held his little sister tightly as she trembled. Another tried to calm her by humming a lullaby. Yet another sneered.
"Scared of some smoke and walls groaning? Grow up."
"Enough," Dorothy said softly, kneeling beside the frightened girl. "We're safe here."
Vanthelis took a final look around. He glanced at Ishlar, who leaned on his sword for support.
"Rest once the night passes," Vanthelis said. "Until then, we hold the line."
Outside, the dark smoke continued to swirl around the new Ziggurat, pulsing like a heartbeat. Vanthelis sat in silence, the whispering wind carrying the distant howls of creatures that did not belong to this world.
He sighed. "This is only the beginning."