The return was a burst of wind and condensed terror. The shrill whistle of their aerial ride cut off as abruptly as it had begun when Elisa, her face drained and streaming with sweat, released her concentration. The spear, freed from the turquoise energy that had borne it, instantly lost its balance and dumped them unceremoniously onto the ground, just a few dozen meters from the defensive perimeter where Maggie and the others were concealed.

They landed in a cloud of dust and a muffled groan from Zirel, whose fingers were still clamped onto Elisa's coat. Soldiers sprang from their hiding places, weapons aimed, before recognizing the two scouts. Their expressions shifted from alert to stupefaction at the sight of the ghostly returnees: Zirel, pale and trembling, struggling to regain his squad leader's composure, and Elisa, swaying, her arms trembling finely from the superhuman effort.

Maggie was on them in an instant, her gaze sweeping the horizon to ensure they hadn't been pursued.

"By all the hells, what happened?" she growled, helping Zirel to his feet while another soldier supported Elisa.

"C... creatures..." Zirel panted, catching his breath. "Of stone and roots. Dozens. Drawn to the... the scar." He shook himself, as if to dispel the memory of their vertiginous flight. "And she..." He pointed a trembling finger at Elisa, unable to find the words.

"The city is dead, Maggie," Elisa continued, her voice hoarse but clear. "Killed in a single stroke. It's not destruction, it's an... extraction. A void. There's a monolith, a wound in the world. And the creatures are the corrupted residue of what was stolen."

She described what she had perceived – the coldness of the extraction, the echo of the hunger that had devoured all life. The soldiers around listened in silence, a cold horror showing on their tired faces. Boredom and apprehension gave way to a much deeper, almost primal dread.

Maggie listened, her face granite. When Elisa finished, she met Zirel's gaze, who confirmed with a grim nod.

"Dragons?" she asked finally.

"I don't know," admitted Elisa. "But this hunger... it's ancient. And it reminds me of something I carry within me."

This revelation chilled the assembly even more than the description of the stone creatures.

"So what do we do, Captain?" asked a sergeant, gripping the hilt of his sword. "Do we flee this accursed graveyard?"

Maggie turned, scanning the expanse of silent ruins. Her commander's instinct weighed every option.

"Flee? Perhaps. But to where?" She indicated the horizon, beyond which lay the tacitly accepted demarcation line with Pilaf's troops. "We're already in contested territory. Advancing risks running into Pilaf's men. Retreating means abandoning the mission and potentially bringing this... this taint... back with us without understanding it."

She turned back to the group, her gaze regaining its steely sharpness.

"We are not alone here. Other Martissant teams are operating in this sector, as are Pilaf's. Our orders were to reconnoiter, not to provoke a full engagement." She paused, letting her words sink in. "Elisa's discovery changes the game. This is no longer simple ruins. It's a threat of an unknown nature. A threat that could concern everyone, Martissant and Pilaf alike."

Zirel, having finally regained his composure, nodded. "Prudence is our best weapon. If we charge into the maze, we could wake other things, or worse, walk into a Pilaf ambush while we're already dealing with these creatures. An encounter under those conditions would turn into a bloodbath. No one would win."

"Exactly," Maggie approved. "We fall back to a more defensible position, on the edge of the ruin zone. We establish a discreet camp and we wait."

She fixed her gaze on the horizon, towards the east, from where any answer would come.

"We wait for Count Martissant's response. Reporting this to him isn't cowardice, it's a strategic imperative. He needs to know the game has changed. That it might no longer be about fighting over a pile of stones, but about surviving something far greater."

She shifted her attention back to her soldiers, imposing calm through her mere presence.

"In the meantime, we stay on our guard. Pilaf's teams are also in the sector, and they may have made their own discoveries, or worse, found nothing at all and are more aggressive than ever. Any encounter must be avoided. If we see them, we disengage. The time for skirmishes is over. Not until we know what we're dealing with."

The group, momentarily disoriented by Elisa's fantastic tale, found a semblance of structure in Maggie's clear orders. They prepared for a tactical withdrawal, casting nervous glances towards the shadows of the ruins, aware that the threat no longer came only from the armed men of the other side, but from the stones themselves, and the haunted silence surrounding them. The hunt was over. Now it was about survival, and waiting.

---

Night fell like a lead lid, cold and moonless. The sky, veiled by high haze, offered only the pale, distant gleam of a few stars. The camp was a blot of vigilant darkness on the edge of the stone desert. No fire was lit, on Maggie's orders. They ate hard bread and dry cheese, exchanging barely a few murmurs.

The darkness amplified every sound. The wind, which had played a hollow melody during the day, had fallen silent, replaced by a silence so profound it became deafening. Then the noises began. Not the urgent scratching of the stone creatures, but other noises, more insidious. A dry crack, somewhere in the darkness, like a stone splitting in the cold. A silky sliding, perhaps that of a dust slide on a slope. Sometimes, a faint clattering, as if pebbles were clicking together far away.

Each time, the sentries froze, their gaze strained towards the ruins, their hands tight on their weapons. But nothing emerged from the shadows. No sickly amber glow pierced the gloom. Only the silence returned, heavier, more threatening.

Elisa was leaning against a rock, a rough blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She seemed exhausted, drained by the use of her power and the resonance with the monolith. Her eyes were closed, but her eyelids fluttered. She wasn't asleep. She was listening, too. Not to the noises outside, but to those within – the echo of the scar pulsating faintly in the depths of her consciousness, a dull, sick beat.

Zirel was sitting nearby, sharpening his dagger with meticulous slowness. The gesture was ritual, a way to find an anchor in the real after the surreal terror of their flight. His gaze often rested on Elisa, no longer with mistrust, but with a grave curiosity. He had seen. He had felt that force which defied the laws of the world. And he had heard his own voice scream like a child's. The shame had passed, replaced by a respectful incomprehension.

Maggie made silent rounds, moving from one watch post to another. She exchanged a look, a tap on the shoulder, a murmur. "Nothing to report, Captain. Just... noises." She would nod. They had to hold on. The fear of noises was preferable to the certainty of fangs and claws.

Towards the middle of the night, a strange phenomenon occurred. Small lights appeared, dancing above the nearest ruins. They were a pale, phosphorescent green, moving in jerks. Fireflies.

A young soldier, his nerves frayed by tension, raised his crossbow.

"Stand down!" Maggie ordered in a low voice, but with an authority that cut his gesture short.

The fireflies danced, indifferent to the drama unfolding. They flitted between the stones, their innocent lights casting ghostly reflections on the sandstone. It was a beauty both soothing and macabre. Had life, in its simplest and most fragile form, managed to regain a foothold in this place of death? Or was it something else? Another form of residue, a more peaceful one?

Elisa opened her eyes. She watched the fireflies for a long moment.

"They are not... twisted," she murmured, loud enough for Maggie to hear. "Their anima is weak, but pure. Like a candle in a great wind. They don't come from the scar. They survive despite it."

This simple observation, coming from her unique perception, brought a strange comfort. If something pure could still exist here, then hope, however tenuous, had not completely deserted the place.

The night stretched on, interminable. The noises continued, never materializing. The fireflies eventually disappeared. The cold intensified, biting to the bone. The men, exhausted by adrenaline and the watch, fought against sleep, starting at the slightest feverish dream.

No messenger arrived from Count Martissant. No glint of armor or torch signaled the approach of Pilaf's troops. There was no attack, no cry, no combat.

There was only the waiting.

And in this waiting, under the gaze of the indifferent stars, Maggie's group learned a new form of fear. No longer the sharp, brutal fear of the enemy, but the slow, gnawing fear of the unknown. The fear of what could be hiding in the silence, behind the stones, in the depths of this place's forgotten history. And the greater fear, still, of what Elisa carried within her, which recognized the echo of a hunger so ancient it had devoured an entire city.

Dawn broke, grey and cold, over a silent camp and drawn faces. Nothing had happened. And that, perhaps, was the most unsettling thing.

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