[i]"Hey there."[/i]

Two words Lothren never expected to hear floated to him through the dim.

The ground rocked beneath him, murmuring a continuous warning, even as the warm sun fell peacefully on his skin. His lungs filled with air for what felt like the first time in an age. Only one eye opened, the other violet and swollen, to find the icy Juna kneeling over him. Ageless and pristine, golden hair pouring around her neck. He would have liked a little longer to simply look at her, but she was right. There was no time.

Just beyond her, swathed in sandy clouds and shifting beams of sunlight, the lithe arachnid stood firmly among the shifting sands that had once been a rocky ridge. Its glowing eyes were impossible to follow, but Lothren was certain they were fixed on the two of them.

“I thought I understood,” the elf croaked past reddened teeth. The Knight’s vengeful blow had delivered no small amount of his imprisoned rage. “An antlion… migration through northern… Eretolia.”

The arachnid’s mouthparts moved, spewing its infernal, indecipherable speech. If Lothren weren’t assured it was too far to hear him, he might think he was being mocked.

“… But it was them.” Lothren hissed through his teeth as a wave of white hot agony shuddered through his body, sourcing from his broken arm. “But why—ah!” Another attempt to move choked him with electric pain. The land was heaving beneath him, and its threatening rumble was growing louder.

Beyond them, the arachnid monster unfolded its scythe arms and began to lean forward. In a flurry of movement, a spray of sand began to cascade behind it as the creature buried itself in the sand, tunneling into the earth. In the periphery of his vision, another of its surviving smaller counterparts was doing the same, leaving the bloody ruins of the caravan in posthumous tranquility.

In another moment they were all gone, but the earth still shook. If the entities that created this chaos were fleeing, there must have been something more they were anticipating.

“Go.” He would not be a burden. The Ytharien had followed Lothren to their undoing, and he would not drag another down with him. “Go, Juna! Go swiftly! Leave me here. I will only encumber you.”
[hr]
“Flaming…” Serona grunted as the world spun and placed itself under his feet, “… bastards…”

He fell over Kolbe’s shoulder, wondering how the man could possibly be mortal. Falkenburg and the Colossus dead. Three monsters of nightmare. And here Kolbe still stood, dragging Serona from the very maw of oblivion.  

The weight of Linus’s question was felt and mulled over as he stared at the passing corpse of one of the beasts that had risen from the earth. Aretans had grown to despise Viceni magic enormously over the past fifty years, and to know that the enemy had come from elsewhere was almost difficult to admit. Vicenna was understood, tangible, and soon, bound by a treaty.

If this was a new threat, if this was what the King had feared, Areta may yet face ruin.

“What are you made of, Kolbe?” Amon asked in amazement. “Why do you live?” And, if indeed no man lived forever, what would finally fell him?

King Alonso argued mildly with his nervous mare, which chewed on its bit and tugged at its reins, but the beast was old an obedient. With enough encouragement, Alonso was certain the animal would carry its rider into hell itself. He stroked its neck and mane and whispered assurances, while staring at the haggard shapes of his battered Knights.

This is what they endured in his name, and now they staggered toward him to offer what remained of themselves.  They believed the King was worthy of this, while their commander swam quietly in self doubt and questioned a thing as petty as a birthright.

Alonso stared at the unsightly scepter in Kolbe's hand. It had been wrested from what could be called the “hands” of those hellish creatures, but to what end? Something about it was significant, perhaps almost familiar, but he couldn’t name it.

“We [i]must[/i] run,” Alonso urged, swinging his horse suddenly toward the river. “Here, get him up here. Snowdrift will endure two for a short while, but I don’t know about that one.” Mr. Hooves was indicated with his chin. “This is what my elven friend was speaking of, I am sure of it.”

The King turned his head to spy two more men approaching by horse, coming from direction of the caravan. They certainly had the right idea. He thought he recognized his country’s colors, but out here that seemed impossible. Unless… perhaps one of Kolbe’s fellow Knights had survived?! 

There wasn’t any time to consider that. All of them had to flee.

“Friends!” the King called out while his horse stamped the earth. “This way! Cross the river! The deeper we go into Areta, the safer we shall be!” 

As they began to move onward, the desert began to lift itself. The land beneath them swelled and rose, defying everything logical, as if they stood on the breast of a great creature taking a large breath. This actually made running much easier, transforming a sandy trek into a downhill sprint. 

But then the creature exhaled.

Caving in from somewhere miles behind them, the sand drained away from the topsoil and receded into the creviced rock beneath them, which itself  began to break and crumble inward. All the land fell into widening chasm, a deep, dark pit that seemed to have no floor. An entire desert, an entire [i]country[/i] was avalanching into itself, akin to the sand in an hour glass.

All of it fell just behind Juna’s feet. Every village, every city, from the dwarven tunnels through the Scarlet Steppes, from the monolithic Towers of the Magi, to the Ministry Palace and the rolling evergreen forests, hundreds of square miles slipped away into nothingness. Everything not far beyond the rivered border of Areta was swallowed into the abyss.

In this year, on this day, at this hour, Vicenna collapsed beneath its own weight, leaving behind nothing by a dusty crater.