The bone field stretched endlessly beneath a sky that did not exist.

There was no sun. No clouds. No horizon in the true sense of the word. Only a pale, suffocating expanse above and an even paler wasteland below, where the ground had long since forgotten what it meant to bear life. Every step crushed fine fragments of bone beneath boot and foot, releasing faint clouds of powder that lingered too long in the air, as though even the wind had grown tired of moving.

Across this desolation, a force advanced.

Over a thousand survivors moved as one, their formation uneven but purposeful, driven forward not by command but by necessity. At the front of this mass were two figures who did not hesitate, did not falter, and did not look back.

Arthur moved first.

His blade carved a pale arc through the air, and with it came a crescent of blue light that tore forward into the approaching horde. The energy sliced cleanly through the leading Wraiths, splitting elongated bodies in half before dispersing into motes of fading luminescence. The strike did not stop them. It only thinned them.

The Wraiths came regardless.

Their pale, stretched limbs dragged and lunged across the bone field with unnatural speed, claws scraping against fragments that should have slowed them but did not. Their mouths opened too wide, black teeth glistening as they surged forward in waves that showed no sign of exhaustion.

Jacob met them head-on.

His waraxe moved with brutal certainty, each swing carrying a force that did not merely cut but destroyed. When the blade connected, bodies did not fall cleanly—they shattered. Bone splintered, torsos collapsed inward, and the impact sent fragments of Wraith flesh scattering across the ground in blackened sprays.

The amber runes along the axe pulsed faintly with every strike, each blow carrying a weight that exceeded the limits of flesh and muscle. There was nothing refined about his movements. There was no wasted effort either. Every swing existed for a single purpose—to erase whatever stood in front of him.

Together, they formed the point of the spear.

Behind them, the survivors followed.

They were not organized in any formal sense, but the presence of strength at the front gave direction to the chaos. Those who could fight pressed forward, striking at any Wraith that broke past the leading line. Those who could not stayed behind them, moving as quickly as fear would allow, their eyes wide, their breaths uneven.

The ground beneath them shifted constantly.

Bone fragments gave way under pressure, sliding and crunching in a way that made stable footing difficult. Every misstep threatened collapse, and yet they continued forward, because stopping was not an option. The Wraiths did not slow. They did not tire. They did not hesitate.

Arthur moved again.

His sword cut upward this time, releasing another arc of pale blue energy that surged through the air and tore through a cluster of advancing Wraiths. The strike carved a temporary path, a momentary opening that allowed the group behind him to push forward another step.

"Keep moving!" someone shouted from within the mass.

The command spread, repeated by others until it became less of an order and more of a shared instinct. Movement was survival. Stopping meant being swallowed.

Jacob stepped forward into the gap Arthur had created.

His axe came down with crushing force, obliterating a Wraith that had leapt toward him mid-air. The impact drove the creature into the ground, its body folding unnaturally before collapsing into fragments that dissolved into blackened residue.

Another came from the side.

Jacob turned without thinking, his weapon sweeping outward in a wide arc that intercepted the attack. The force of the swing sent the creature tumbling across the bone field, its limbs snapping as it rolled before going still.

The line held.

For now.

Arthur exhaled slowly as he adjusted his stance, his gaze sweeping across the horizon. The bone ridges in the distance loomed closer now, their massive forms rising like the remains of something ancient and incomprehensible. They dominated the landscape, offering the only structure in a place that otherwise lacked all definition.

That was their destination.

It had to be.

There was nowhere else to go.

"This might be more difficult than I expected," Arthur said, his voice calm despite the ongoing clash around them. He glanced briefly toward Jacob. "Are you up to the task?"

Jacob did not slow.

His axe rose and fell again, crushing another Wraith that had attempted to close the distance. He snorted as he stepped forward, his boots grinding bone fragments beneath them.

"Let’s hope we’ll meet the others there," he replied. "If not, then we can only continue on without them."

Arthur’s expression shifted.

The faint ease in his features disappeared, replaced by something more restrained. His gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he spoke again.

"What about Nero?"

Jacob stopped.

It was brief. A single moment where his movement halted, where the constant rhythm of destruction broke just enough to be noticed.

He turned his head slightly, looking back at Arthur.

"He’ll be fine," Jacob said.

A pause followed.

Then—

"Probably."

The word lingered between them, carried away by the movement of air that barely existed in this place.

Arthur frowned.

He said nothing more.

There was nothing to say.

The Wraiths came again.

Another wave surged forward, their numbers unbroken, their movements relentless. The ground trembled faintly under the collective force of their advance, bone fragments shifting as the creatures closed in from all directions.

Arthur raised his blade once more.

The runes along its surface flared faintly as he swung, releasing another crescent of blue energy that cut through the front line of the approaching horde. The strike carved space, but only briefly. The Wraiths filled it immediately, their bodies pressing forward with the same mindless hunger.

Jacob stepped into them.

His axe moved again, and again, each strike crushing whatever it met. The survivors behind them pressed forward, their movements driven by the narrow window of safety created by the two at the front.

The advance continued.

Step by step.

Kill by kill.

The bone ridges grew closer.

And still, the Wraiths did not stop.