The moths moved on instinct, but instinct did not mean stupidity. They began to slow, not from fear, but from learning.

They watched the wagons and the carriages, watched how the line held shape, how the beasts pulled, how the men clustered around the weak points.

Then they copied it. The stampede tightened into a file. Bodies fell into place with ugly discipline, mouths opening and closing as they ran.

A swarm that had been chaos became something like an army.

Fay saw the change and felt cold creep up her spine. She snatched up a box of alcohol, set it alight, and threw it into their path.

This time the moths cried out, but not like beasts panicking at flame.

Their bodies twisted as if they wanted to veer toward it, yet something inside them seized control and dragged them forward.

They writhed as they ran, fighting themselves.

Fay looked to Radeon, eyes wide with a question she did not dare speak. What now?

"Your job's to pull men out of the carriage. Stand by." he bellowed.

Radeon landed on the nearest carriage and jumped toward where Biscuit rode.

"Which one runs the fastest?" he asked.

Biscuit thrust a finger toward a group of the stags.

"Give me your best twenty-five drivers," he said. "Don't let it slow the retreat. Your call." He patted Biscuit's shoulder and moved off.

Single toned calls rang through the retreat, sharp and plain as a bell struck once. Carriages shifted aside. Harness lines tightened.

The stags slowed, heads dipping as if the sound had hooked them by the antlers.

Half an incense stick of time later, the riders with empty wagons had drifted to the rear.

Radeon moved the moment he saw it. He vaulted onto the nearest wagon, then onto the next, closing on one of the drivers with a face like dried mud.

A few fast words. A hard gesture. The men nodded like a condemned soul offered one last task.

The line began to change. Empty wagons rolled out, not as a clump but in a grid of five, set like checkers.

Each row spaced far enough apart to look like a mistake, wide lanes of open ground between them.

Wheels creaked. Hooves stamped. Men swallowed their breath and held it.

If this failed, they would be butchered here.

The moth tide met the new shape. The first to reach the front row sprang up, a predator in midflight, mouths opening in anticipation.

The wagon in front of it suddenly surged forward.

The moth snapped at empty air and missed by a narrow margin, landing hard, legs scrambling for traction.

Radeon did not give it that breath. He drove ten needles into its back in a blur, shoulders and arms swelling with force.

Then he heaved. The moth flipped onto its back like a kicked table, legs waving uselessly.

The file behind it had no time to stop. Bodies slammed into it. Wings tangled. Mouths tore at mouths.

The orderly line buckled, and when it finally tried to reform, a gap of nearly a couple dozen meters yawned open across four of the files.

"Master, it's working! They're falling behind!" Fay cheered.

"Not done yet." he said.

Radeon jumped between the wagons and kept working the gap, flipping more moths out of the file before they could rebuild their rhythm.

Needles flashed. Steel bit writhing flesh. Bodies rolled onto their backs and became obstacles instead of threats.

Then a new sound cut through the grind of wheels and the wet shrieks.

Buzzing. Above. Radeon snapped his head up.

The bison had already grabbed Fay by the scruff of her robe and was fleeing with her.

The bison had seen what Radeon had not wanted to face. One of the moths could fly.

The creature rose over the wagons, wings clean enough to carry its warped body.

It did not dive like a starving beast hunting for the weakest bite.

Purpose drove it, gliding above the file of miners as if it hunted something specific.

Radeon drew his blade and ran, feet hammering between wagon to carriages as he chased the shadow overhead.

"Clear out. I'll bring it down." Radeon boomed.

Horror rippled through the miners below. Children wailed. Women cried out for Radeon to save them.

The miner's voices were raw with the kind of faith that had nowhere else to go.

Their helplessness stabbed him. It felt like last time, sharp and familiar, a wound that never learned to close.

Radeon clenched the hilt and took a deep breath. He sheathed the sword and raised the gun instead.

Shots cracked the air. Iron punched through membrane.

Holes blossomed across the moth's wings and the creature wobbled, fighting the loss of lift.

Radeon closed the distance and seized the torn wing edges, yanking hard.

The moth ate dirt when it hit, body slamming the ground with a thud.

Radeon did not give it a second breath. Steel flashed. Its head came off clean.

Then four legs followed, severed quickly, thrown aside like scrap.

He left the creature to wriggle where it fell, a fresh blockade for its kin.

It was not enough. More shadows moved above.

One moth swooped low and hooked a carriage in its legs, lifting it as if the wood weighed nothing.

Families inside screamed. As the wagon rose, people leapt down, and fellow miners caught them.

A child of five stayed inside. Frozen. Too scared to move. Too small to understand that staying meant death.

Radeon had known this would happen sooner or later. The moth climbed with its prize.

Radeon flicked his needles into the carriage, thread snapping taut as he rode the line up after it.

Wind tore at his face. He drew alongside the swinging transport and fired.

Wood splintered. A hole opened. The little girl's head popped through the gap, eyes wide and wet, breath coming in thin, panicked pulls.

Radeon did not rush her. He gave her a calming smile, then lifted both hands, the spindles at his waist holding him up.

"Uncle's gonna get some candied haws later. Wanna come with me?" he said warmly.

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