Wemmbu stood at the edge of the craters, chest heaving, mace still clutched in his knuckles. He'd carved through the last wave—dozens of them, nameless and faceless. They'd scattered like leaves in a storm.

But Y/n wasn't among them.

He scanned the wreckage again. Tilted slabs of stone. A broken sword hilt. A banner, torn and smoldering.

Then—a shift. Movement in the rubble. Not footsteps. Something smaller. Near the lip of the nearest crater, half buried under a chunk of obsidian, something white poked out.