With a war cry that shivered the bones, the bird launched itself at the monster, talons glinting like honed steel. The two behemoths ascended in a whirlwind of feathers and fury, a brutal dance that dwarfed the world below. The monster, thrown off balance, beat its massive wings in frantic retaliation, whipping up gales that could shatter mountains. But the bird, a master of the winds, weaved through the chaos with the precision of a blade. Every movement was purposeful, a deadly art played out in the canvas of the night. It struck with a speed that defied its size, talons sinking deep into the monster’s hide.
The abomination bellowed in agony, its shrieks echoing through the valley like the wails of the damned. The bird’s victory cry rang out, fierce and triumphant, a declaration of nature’s wrath. Its talons raked mercilessly, each blow a testament to an indomitable will, a feral reminder that even titans and monsters could bleed.
Baruch stood rooted to the spot, his arms wrapped tightly around Tabitha’s battered form. His gaze remained locked on the chaos above—the titanic struggle of primal forces tearing the heavens apart. The winds howled like mourning spirits, the blood of giants staining the earth, yet Baruch didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He was a stone amidst the tempest, until a voice—imperious, cold, and unearthly—pierced the silence of his mind.
“Take this woman to safety,” it commanded, the words as unyielding as iron. “She must not die here. Too valuable.”
The voice dripped with alien detachment, each syllable carrying the crushing weight of an undeniable power. It carried the same weight Baruch had once heard from Diurnix and the other Celestials—formless, soundless, yet deafening within his mind, a command heard by him alone, relentless and impassive.
“Their hordes are coming. They rise from the forest. Buy her time. Do not pity them—they are enemies of Unia. Do not fear death. It is irrelevant. You are irrelevant.” The words tore through Baruch’s mind, cold and unrelenting, each syllable like a dagger twisting in his soul.
At that moment, his eyes were drawn upward, inexorably locked onto the bird, the ruler of the skies, vast and terrible. Its gaze bore down on him, sharp and unyielding, devoid of mercy or doubt. It was not the gaze of a savior—it was the gaze of a sovereign, one that passed judgment with a cruel and indifferent finality.
"Irrelevant." The thought reverberated through him, echoing in the deepest chambers of his soul. For a moment, a flicker of indignation sparked within him, a bitter seed of disappointment at the brutal dismissal of his life’s worth. Years of service, sacrifice, devotion—swept away by a single, indifferent declaration.
But it was only a moment.
Baruch swallowed the rising resentment. It was not his place to question the will of the divine. His significance was not for him to determine. His purpose was etched in stone: to protect, to serve, and if the moment demanded, to die.
The druid's grip on Tabitha tightened, his resolve hardening. “Move!” he shouted to Miguel and Carlos, his voice cracking like a whip. “Run and don’t look back!” Duty and desperation lit a fire in his veins, pushing him forward.
Miguel and Carlos lurched into motion, their steps faltering as they struggled to match the druid’s determined stride. Tabitha’s fragile body weighed heavily in his arms, her every ragged breath a cruel testament to his helplessness. "Irrelevant," the word echoed in his mind once more—a dirge of despair woven into the symphony of terror that surrounded them: the battle cries of the godlike bird, the guttural wails of the wounded monstrosity, the deafening thunder of their clashes that left no margin for error, no space for reprieve.
Their escape was a frantic, scrambling dash toward the faint glimmer of safety. But fate, with its cruel sense of humor, was not done. With a shattering impact, the ground ahead exploded, soil and shards of stone scattering like embers from a dying flame. From the devastation, a massive slab crashed into view—scaled, dark, and horrifyingly organic.
Carlos stumbled to a halt, eyes wide with awe and terror mingling in his voice. “This… a piece of a scale…”
The ground beneath their feet responded, surging with a sudden, liquid grace. The soil quivered, then melted and reshaped, rising like liquid clay, morphing into an earthen canopy. Born of druidic mightiness and the valley's will to protect its folk, the dome turned stone-solid just as the first scalding drops of blood from the titanic avian above fell like liquid fire. Each splatter was a hiss of violence, the bird’s blood streaking across their newfound shield, sealing them inside a trembling cocoon.
Baruch, his breath shallow yet steady, struck the earthen shell with deliberate force, carving out a jagged archway. The raw edges framed the shattered landscape beyond, a tableau of chaos and ruin. His eyes swept over the devastation with the practiced precision of a seasoned warrior, noting every flicker of shadow, every subtle movement that might herald danger. Outside, the world roared with unrelenting fury, a cacophony of destruction, but for one fleeting moment, they stood within a fragile bubble of reprieve.
“Forward!” he barked, his voice not a plea, but an unyielding order that left no room for doubt or hesitation.
Caught in a precarious balance between salvation and doom, the group found themselves trapped in an ordeal reminiscent of ancient sagas, where heroes tread narrow paths between the wrath of battling titans. The air, heavy with the scent of sky giants' blood, buzzed with the tension.
Gusts of wind, sharp as razors, battered them, each one carrying the crushing weight of falling mountains, threatening to snuff out life without hesitation or mercy. Debris from the heavens rained down in a relentless torrent. Shards of bone and slabs of broken scales, gleaming darkly in the fractured light, fell like curses cast from wrathful skies. Yet Baruch, a steadfast compass amidst the storm, deflected every threat, guiding them through the chaos. With each desperate stride, the once-vast expanse separating them from the village began to shrink, the faint glimmer of sanctuary drawing ever closer—a sight as heartening as the first light of dawn to the hopeless.
But Baruch halted abruptly, sweat streaking his brow, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His gaze turned back to the grove that had once been their haven, now a place of shattered dreams and dying hope. “I’m sorry, Ha'Etz, and thank you,” he murmured, bidding farewell for the last time.
Above, the clash of titans began to recede, their rage dwindling to distant echoes, like the final tremors of a storm retreating across a broken sea.
The sorrow carved into Baruch’s features hardened, transforming into a mask of grim resolve as his eyes turned to the distant forest, where creeping ruin devoured everything in its path. The animals sensed it—the inevitable destruction—and fled in blind terror, scrambling over one another, driven by a primal instinct. It was a danger too immense to fight, too merciless to comprehend.
Baruch lowered his gaze to Tabitha, still cradled in his arms, her face a pale mask of weakness and pain. Her eyes, heavy with exhaustion, fluttered open for a moment, meeting his. The druid adjusted her gently, the muscles in his arms taut as he strove to appear composed, and offered her a smile that barely concealed his own uncertainty. “This time, at last,” he whispered, his voice thick with tenderness, “it seems I must be the strong one.”
Slowly, almost reluctantly, he eased her down, his hands lingering on her frail form as if sheer will alone could hold her together. Her legs brushed the ground, and she trembled like a fragile leaf caught in a storm—recovering, but far from whole. “Baruch, where are you going?” she asked, her voice breaking with threadbare confusion.
He said nothing, but his hand found her cheek, tracing its contour with a slightly trembling touch. Their horns entwined—a silent confession of years of companionship, shared struggles, and love —all condensed into that one delicate embrace.
“Nothing to worry about,” he lied, his voice wrapped in the veneer of calm as he pulled back. “Take care of her,” he commanded, his gaze shifted downwards to meet those of his old friend and a youngling standing before him.
In that moment, Carlos's wavering gaze ignited a spark of doubt within Baruch. Yet, as his eyes met Miguel's steady, unwavering stare, that doubt was swiftly extinguished. The young man stood with the resolve of a newly forged blade, his posture a testament to untamed confidence that reignited Baruch’s own.
“Hurry, achshav!” he commanded, the urgency in his voice making both men falter. Yet they steadied themselves, flanking the Druidess on either side, their shoulders supporting her fragile form. Baruch released Tabitha into their arms, his heart twisting as if he had severed a piece of his soul and handed it away. For a moment, his hands lingered, hovering with quiet reluctance, but he forced himself to withdraw.
Carlos, whose shoulders began where the Druidess’s ribs ended, stumbled, his knees groaning under the strain, but he found his footing, pride and stubbornness keeping him upright. Miguel, sturdy and spirited, barely grimaced; the ordeal was no more than a ripple on the lake of his youthful vigor.
Having ensured they held her securely, Baruch stepped back, his gaze lingering on her frailty for a heartbeat longer than he should have allowed. He wished he could offer her more warmth, more solace, but his words now bore only the weight of duty.
“Tabitha,” he said, his voice low, “It doesn’t matter how, but you must get on your feet and take the girls and Leaf as far away as you can. The village is no longer safe.”
He turned without waiting for her reply, his silhouette casting a resolute shadow as he faced the darkened veil of the forest. Where once hopes had mingled with the whispers of nature, now loomed a grim promise of reckoning.
“Maestro, all will be fine?” Carlos asked, his voice heavy with doubt and unease.
“I assure you,” Baruch lied again, the word rolling out steady, unshaken, a lie made iron by necessity.
He did not look back, his focus fixed on the forest’s ominous embrace.
“Everything will be fine,” he said, his voice fading into the stillness as he took his first step forward.
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