Roddick, having drawn the short straw in Griff's grim lottery, was to be the vanguard in assaulting the threshold of the ruins. One step in, and his boot snagged a wire stretched taut between two knee-high pillars, triggering a barrage of pebbles that pelted his face and bloodied his nose. He threw himself sideways, cursing as a volley of sharp stones and dirt shot out in all directions.

"Spread out!" Griff bellowed to the men. "Watch your bloody feet!" He hacked up a mouthful of dust, aiming his spit at the shadows on the off chance they would hit one of their quarry.

Another guard yelped as his leg plunged knee-deep into a cleverly camouflaged pit, the impact sending him sprawling, his sword skittering out of reach. Griff bit back a howl of frustration through clenched jaws. This wasn't how he'd envisioned their assault unfolding. This was abject humiliation, an unraveling of their dignity with each sprung trap. He couldn't even tell anymore if the mocking laughter he could barely hear was real, or just in his head.

From somewhere in the shadows, a gleeful voice taunted: "Welcome to our neighborhood! Hope you brought lots of bandages!"

Clever little pests, Griff begrudgingly acknowledged, realizing the Shy had probably been preparing for them all this time. But he hadn't endured all the hardships thrown his way for nothing.

Griff paused with a raised hand. "Hold!" he barked. His eyes scanned the misty, overgrown landscape. He pointed to a suspicious pile of leaves and branches ahead. "Another pit. Circle around it."

The men exchanged brief, appreciative glances. Griff motioned Roddick forward, squeezing the bruised youth's shoulder reassuringly. "We're done being their fools. These pests rely on cleverness, but there are limits to what their tiny minds can come up with. We'll break them!"

Roddick nodded, eyes alight with cautious determination. Griff's patience had been worn thin, but now he wielded his fury as a honed weapon.

Up in the remaining tower in the ruins, which afforded her a view slightly taller than the humans, Vikka tracked the guards' movements. Griff and his gang pressed on, their boots crushing the careful constructions of the Shy and her kin.

They're pushing through, she reported to Sylven through their bond. The traps are slowing them down, but they're learning to watch for them.

How long do we have? Sylven asked from his position near the Warden.

Minutes, maybe an hour. Vikka's mental voice carried an undercurrent of dread. Griff... I don't think he'll consider turning back. He's beyond furious now. No longer fighting just us, he's fighting to gain back his own pride. She paused, her anxiety flooding their connection. And that makes him twice as dangerous.

Between the tower and the tree line, the Shard Warden loomed, a figure of patient menace encircled by pulsing anchor points. The creature's vitreous spine flickered intermittently like lightning trapped within glass, each flash synchronized with the shards embedded in its perimeter. The air around it crackled with a prickling bite that raised hairs.

Menna crouched beside the nearest anchor point, her fingers trembling slightly as she pressed them against the arclith bellwether she'd hurriedly cobbled together from workshop scraps and recently unearthed artifacts. The stone hummed erratically beneath her touch, each discordant beat like a whispered warning.

"The connections are fraying," she urgently updated Veyran. "Every section of the ruins the humans trample, every node they topple, pushes the net to further unravel!"

"Can we do something to compensate?" Veyran asked, adjusting his own position near the southern anchor.

"I'm trying, but..." Menna's voice trailed off as another jarring crash echoed through the ruins. One of Griff's men had blundered into a mirror trap, and the reflected light sent wild patterns dancing across the Warden's faceted hide, sparking another arcane palpitation. She found herself flashing back to the quiet, frustrating hours at Umbryss, studying shards under controlled conditions, nothing like this frenzied chaos.

She shook her head to bring herself back to the present, concentrating on the energy patterns coursing before her.

"The connections aren't breaking down from all the feedback," she clarified. "It's like the Warden is... reconfiguring the programming, with whatever's left embedded among the ruins."

"Oh, that's not good," Veyran's face paled even further, if that were possible. "That means it won't stop until its main goals are met."

The golem's head swiveled toward the human intruders, its eyes flaring brighter.

Garrett knelt behind the remains of what may have once been a fountain, crossbow loaded and ready. Rhiannon crouched beside him, the arclith shard in her hand pulsing with warm light.

"There," she whispered, pointing to a gap in the rubble where two guards were trying to navigate around a pit. "Can you hit the one on the left?"

Garrett's bolt flew true, catching the guard in the shoulder, forcing him to stumble backward and ram his companion directly into the pit they had been trying to avoid.

"That's two down," Garrett noted, already reloading.

But their victory was short-lived. Griff's voice, raw with rage, boomed across the ruins: "Enough of this! Burn it all!"

The remaining able-bodied attackers produced torches, their flames blazing to life. One guard, Tomas, hesitated as he fumbled with his flint, his gaze tracing the tinder-dry vines and undergrowth leading back into the woods. A sharp glare from Griff spurred him back to action.

Rhiannon's blood ran cold as she realized their intent.

"They'll burn through the defenses. All those ropes, shrubs and vines would be like kindling. The fire would devour the Veilwoods!"

Nynka darted between the crumbling walls, her lithe kobold frame serving her well in the tight spaces. She carried a pouch of clubmoss spores, sulfur and salts, an old recipe from the Cradle Caverns. Nothing powerful enough to permanently injure the giants, but perfect for keeping them at bay.

As a guard lumbered around the corner, she hurled the powder right into his face. The reaction was immediate: a blinding bang that left the man staggering.

"What in the…" he groaned, but Nynka was already gone, her prehensile tail guiding her down a sliding pole to the lower levels.

Behind her, she heard Tibbin's giggles as he triggered his own invention, a carefully balanced beam that swung down to crack the same guard across the shins.

The kobolds' guerrilla tactics were working, but they all wondered if it was merely a matter of time.

Mara rode with Niva on her bluejay in tight circles above the battle, coordinating the Sunbrave response. From her aerial vantage point, she could see the full scope of the conflict: the guards breaching the ruins despite the traps, kobolds darting in and out of position, the Shy mounting increasingly desperate defenses, and the Warden growing more unstable with each passing moment.

Sela, she called through her shard transmitter. Take Ilkin and circle around to the eastern approach. They're trying to flank us.

Acknowledged, Sela replied, her mental voice tense. But… we'll have to cut across the Warden. And it's starting to move.

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Mara's heart sank as she looked down at the behemoth. The golem had taken a step forward, its massive head turning to track the movements of friend and foe alike. The ring of anchor points still held it in place, but the restraints were clearly straining.

Everyone needs to know, spread the word, she relayed to Brynnal. If the Warden runs amok, we scatter. No heroics, just run.

Griff kicked aside a tangle of wire and rope, his face twisted in disgust. At least three of the men were practically out of commission, and the rest looked either beaten or dazed. If only they could see the prize ahead as clearly as he did. Just a few more paces and they would be striking the heart of these puny ruins, where the little people appeared to be ready to make their stand. It would be their last one as far as he was concerned.

"Darren!" he shouted. "Take Roddick and Tomas then circle around this pile of rubble. We'll drive the pests toward the center."

"What about that thing?" Roddick gestured nervously at the Warden.

"Hasn't hit us with anything yet. Could just be a decoy, an illusion, like their other tricks," Griff's lips twitched in a cold smirk, his eyes looking out toward the riverbank. "Let the vermin fret over their pet. We'll seize what we came for and be gone before it makes a move."

But as he spoke, the Warden's head turned. The creature's eyes blazed with increasing intensity, and a low, harmonic tone began to emanate from its jagged maw.

Veyran's calculations were becoming increasingly frantic. The arcane field was collapsing, the carefully balanced frequencies thrown into disarray by the violent signals raging around them.

"Menna, I think we need to extract the anchor points," he called out. "Right now!"

"Not yet!" she replied, her hands bearing down against the lode, which she had pressed into service as their central focus. "I can keep it together for a few more minutes!"

But that grace period looked increasingly unlikely. The Warden had already taken several steps away from its central tether, its shadow now looming over the courtyard. The creature's head swept back and forth, tracking the movements of every living thing in the ruins.

Bounding up on Uiska, Sylven appeared beside Veyran, the pika's fur bristling with nervous energy. "Can you direct its targets?" he asked, keenly aware that he didn't know half as much about arclith manipulation as their non-Sunshy allies. "Nudge it toward the guards instead of us?"

Veyran shook his head. "We don't know how it's been programmed to distinguish between friend and foe. It just senses that the balance has been disrupted, and it wants to restore order."

"By searing everything in sight?"

"By eliminating the variables," Veyran corrected grimly. "Which, in this case, amounts to the same thing."

The battle reached a turning point as a guard broke through the inner defenses. Slashing away with his torch, Tomas crashed through a woven curtain of hanging vines, only to find himself face-to-face with Mirys.

The regal kobold stood her ground, her eyes reflecting the flame's light. "You do not belong here," she said calmly in their language.

Uncomprehending, the man sneered, raising his weapon. "Out of the way, little beast. We've still got enough of you lot left laying eggs in Greyhold"

But his bravado faded as Mirys bared her fangs and raised her staff, and every kobold in the ruins felt her presence touch their minds. The shared bond that connected them all suddenly blazed with purpose.

Now, she commanded. Seven kobolds, seven sets of teeth and tails, struck as one.

They swarmed up his legs, their claws finding purchase in the gaps of his leather armor. To the guard, it felt like being attacked by a pack of angry cats: painful, disorienting, and utterly traumatizing. Rena's fangs found the soft spot behind his knee while Tesska's tail wrapped around his sword arm. Together they brought the giant low. Tomas stumbled backward, flailing wildly at opponents who were too nimble to hit in his panicked retreat.

Vikka regrouped with her kin at the base of the tower, one spot the flames had yet to reach.

"It's not looking good for this Shy nest." Tibbin hissed. "Doesn't Mirys have a safer place she can take us? I'd like to go there now, please."

"We're not done here yet," Vikka sighed, nodding at Mirys apologetically. She called for a huddle, touching tails with the others as a gesture of reassurance. "Tibbin, go lead us in singing your favorite cradle song. The Shy and humans won't understand it, but they'll know we're still here, ready to fight."

As Nynka distributed her remaining clubmoss spores among the group, Tibbin began humming, then singing. The others were unfamiliar with the tune, but they easily picked up on the lullaby, one more traditionally sang for male hatchlings in the nest. It was a melody meant to encourage the smaller males to seek warmth and safety amongst their larger sisters.

Griff finally reached the riverbanks, his sword black with soot from the barriers he'd torched and hacked through. Having caught a glimpse of one Shy in particular, his eyes fixated on this target over all the others.

Jerrik perched proudly on his catfish, the mount's whiskers twitching nervously in the shallows. The Sunbrave was barely the size of his old torturer's hand, but his presence seemed to fill Griff's entire vision.

"Remember me, my tiny boytoy?" Griff called out, the malice in his voice carrying across the rush of the river. "Time to play our favorite games again!"

The massive human waded into the shallows, each step sending waves that rocked Jerrik's mount. To the Shy, Griff looked like a monstrous mountain of filthy flesh, soiled rags, and battered armor, towering above the water.

But Jerrik didn't flee. Instead, he guided his catfish in a wide circle, staying just out of Griff's reach while the human thrashed through the currents. The Sunbrave managed to keep his lone arm steady on the reins, despite the cruel memories of his torment at the giant's hands all flooding back.

"What's wrong?" Griff taunted, swinging his sword in wide arcs that sent water spraying. "You're no fun teasing me like this!"

As Griff stabbed down, Alvon struck from above.

Mounted on Warby, the young Sunbrave came diving down from a mangrove branch, the water rat's bulk giving him momentum as they plunged toward Griff's exposed back. Alvon's blade, a mere human finger's length but wickedly sharp, found gaps between Griff's shoulder plates, sliding deep into the muscle.

Griff roared and spun around, his gigantic hand swatting at his attacker. But Alvon was already gone, Warby swimming at full speed to safety as Griff began to bleed, sapping his strength.

"You want to join in our playtime?" Griff snarled, his arms growing heavy from waving his sword around. "The more the merrier!"

What followed was a deadly dance in the shallows. Jerrik and Alvon worked in perfect coordination. One drew Griff's attention while the other struck from behind. Their sharpened weapons worked hard to penetrate the human's layers of armor, clothing and skin, but they didn't want to kill Griff. They just needed to wear him down.

Griff's size worked against him in this triangle of hurt. His heavy armor dragged at every step, while his tiny opponents moved like quicksilver around him. Jerrik's slippery catfish was exceptionally elusive in its element. He aimed his arrows, coated with concentrated nettle juice, at the disgraced guard's more sensitive areas for maximum stinging. Alvon struck again and again from random directions, wherever Griff turned his back, each cut small but precise, targeting joints and pain points.

"Stand still, you little pests!" Griff bellowed, but he was already breathing hard. Blood loss and exhaustion taking a heavy toll.

The painful waltz came to an end when Jerrik made his move. As Griff lunged forward with his sword, the Sunbrave guided his catfish directly between the human's feet. He tried to stomp on the mount's slick hide, but the action backfired, sending him tumbling backward into the deeper water, his armor dragging him down.

Jerrik didn't hesitate. As Griff struggled to right himself, the one-armed warrior drove his blade deep into the tendon in the human's ankle. He figured that the loss of a foot was more than a fair trade for his arm.

Griff's scream echoed across the ruins as he crashed back into the shallows, his leg now useless beneath him.

But as Griff writhed in the bloodied water, the Warden's head snapped toward the disturbance. The creature's eyes flared with blinding intensity, and the dissonant tone that had been building suddenly spiked into an ear-splitting shriek.

"Watch out!" Mara screamed a warning from the air. Her heart sank as she looked down at the unbridled behemoth. Its beam sliced through the ruins, while the flames Griff had started were already spreading. Looking down from the bluejay, she met Sylven's gaze through the smoke. His face was ashen, a silent question passing between them: What now?

Menna leaned against Veyran, still clutching her arclith bellwether, her earlier determination now replaced by mounting despair. Vikka abandoned the tower to seek safer ground with her kin, her team spirit replaced by gut instinct. A shared understanding passed through their bonds; the fight had just changed, and survival was no longer guaranteed.

The beam that erupted from the Warden's maw was like focused starlight, a lance of pure energy carving through the air above the fallen Griff. The guard dove into the river and pressed himself into the mud as the heat of the blast boiled the water above him to steam.

The golem's fetters finally reached their breaking point. The anchor shards, overwhelmed by the surges of energy, flared and went dark. The Warden was free.

What followed was pandemonium at various scales and fronts.

The Warden's beam swept across the ruins like a scythe, gouging fresh scars into stone and timber. The Greyhold guards scattered in every direction, their hunger for payback replaced by primal terror. To them, the rampaging golem was their clockwork nightmares made real, resembling the dragons of faded myth but made more mineral than animal.

They found themselves running from an enemy they couldn't fight, couldn't reason with, and couldn't escape. Their weapons were useless against its gem-hard frame, their armor meaningless against the devastating beam in its relentless gaze.

Darren dragged the wounded Griff toward the treeline, both men now at the scale of Shy fleeing from an angry giant. Behind them, the Warden's beam carved a glowing furrow in the earth, herding them away from its domain with indifferent precision.

"Run to the trees!" Darren gasped. "We can escape back into the forest!"

But Griff had other ideas. Even hobbled and bleeding, a deep wellspring of wrath still fueled him. Not just at his disgrace, but at the world that had brought him to this moment.

As they stumbled through the ruins, he spotted Tomas, bleeding from a tussle with kobold claws, heading into the woods as if his life depended on it. The sight of the men he considered under his command blindly fleeing caused something in Griff to snap. Unwilling to concede defeat, he tackled and shoved Tomas directly into the Warden's path, effectively using the wounded guard as a meat shield. The man's scream was cut short by the golem's beam.

"Tomas, no!" Roddick screamed in horror. "Griff! What's come over you!?"

But Griff was already moving back into the center of the ruins, now with a flaming torch in each hand, his own and the ill-fated Tomas'. While his own blood painted a trail as he limped through the mud, he set fire to everything within reach: the vegetation, fallen logs and branches, whatever would burn of the Shy structures.

His message was clear: if he couldn't get out of this mess, no one would.

The flames spread quickly through the wood and fibers strewn across the battlefield, adding a hellish glow to the smoke-choked canopy. And somewhere within the all-consuming inferno, Griff's bitter, unhinged laughter echoed amidst the trees and stones. It was the sound of a man who had chosen destruction over defeat.

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