Thirstfall - Memory of a Returnee-Chapter 81: The Last Signal

I have no time.

I take the first staircase I find and hit the ground running. The marching sound from beyond the walls is louder now—a deep, tectonic rumble that vibrates through the soles of my boots and doesn’t stop.

The squad is exactly where I left them. Same spot. Different energy.

Rhayne is rubbing her gloves together in a slow, repetitive loop—the specific, unconscious rhythm of someone managing anxiety through friction. Her storm-cloud eyes are locked on the main gate, tracking the flow of soldiers pouring through it.

Brendon and Oliver are huddled close, speaking in low, urgent voices. Planning something between themselves. Good. Initiative means they’re still functional.

And Lola.

Lola is sitting on top of her metal case, elbows on her knees, chin resting in both palms, staring at absolutely nothing with the profound, transcendent boredom of a child waiting for a dentist appointment.

"Everyone stay put. Lola, you’re with me."

Lola peels herself off the case with the urgency of a cat deciding whether the sunbeam is worth leaving.

We don’t have time for this.

"Sorry, Little Bear. Clock’s ticking."

I grab her by the waist and hoist her onto my hip like a sack of potatoes. She doesn’t fight it. She just grabs the handle of Lullaby’s case with her free hand and lets it drag behind us, the heavy metal scraping across the dirt road with a sound that makes every soldier in a ten-foot radius flinch.

We reach the base of the wall staircase. I set her down.

"Can we do that again?" she asks.

"No time. But you’re about to make a lot of things go pop."

Her eyes ignite. The boredom evaporates like water on a hot skillet.

"Follow me. Fast. You’re going to love this."

Lola swings the massive case onto her back in one fluid motion, the straps locking across her small shoulders. The thing weighs more than she does. I’ve stopped questioning how that body carries it. Physics gave up trying to explain Lola a long time ago.

I take the stairs at a sprint. Lola follows with quick, heavy steps, the case banging against her back with every stride. We pass soldiers, ballistae crews, ammunition runners—all of them pressing flat against the wall to let the strange pair through.

When we reach the small tower I scouted earlier, Lola lets out a breath.

Not a gasp. Not a pant. A genuine, rare sigh of satisfaction. Like she just walked into her bedroom after a long trip.

"Come on. Up you go."

I help her squeeze through the narrow opening. Her small frame slides through the gap with room to spare. I pass Lullaby’s case through after her. She catches it, pulls it inside, and immediately drops to her stomach.

"Comfortable," she announces, pressing her cheek against the cold stone.

Only for you in all of Thirstfall...

"Stay here and wait for my signal on the comms. You’re going to love the view."

Lola shifts forward and peers through the narrow window. The entire battlefield stretches below her—the desert floor, the formation, the approaching dust cloud. Her lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile.

"Copy," she confirms.

I can’t let her pick her own firing position. Too dangerous. For me.

I pull back from the tower and head down the stairs at full speed. The marching sound is no longer a rumble. It’s a roar. The kind of sound that makes your ribcage hum and your teeth ache.

Back at ground level, I pull up the party interface. I need Oliver on comms.

The Ocean’s Law group system only allows five communication slots per person. I can’t waste one on Brendon—not when Veric might resurface in Thirstfall at any moment and need to reach me. Five slots. Five lifelines.

I send the invite. Oliver accepts. The connection locks in.

"I’m already grouped with Brendon on a separate link," Oliver says, testing his repaired leg with a cautious stomp. "I can relay to him if needed."

Perfect. The network is set. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Oliver, you’re with me. We’re the front line." I look at Rhayne. "You stay behind us. Brendon, you protect Rhayne. No matter what happens, she doesn’t take a hit. Clear?"

Nods all around.

"Rhayne." I lower my voice. "Use your support skill on me or Oliver. Never both at once."

She pulls off her gloves, tucking them into her belt. Her bare hands hover at her sides, ready.

"I don’t understand Oliver’s energy signature very well," she whispers, leaning close enough that only I can hear. "The connection might not hold as strong."

"Focus on me first. Only switch to him if his life is in danger." I hold her gaze for half a second longer than tactical necessity requires. "Stay safe."

She nods. No words.

I check my OXI.

[OXI: 741/1,600]

Everyone, recover your OXI here, and let’s move!

[Scales: 460 -> 425]

35 scales—I really hate to chew that much. Not practical.

[OXI: 1,600/1,600]

We march toward the front gate.

The moment we pass through the great stone arch, the scale hits me.

A sea of bodies. Hundreds upon hundreds of fighters spread across the desert floor in disciplined ranks. The energy I’m reading through my passive sense ranges from Rank-D to Rank-C. Solid. Not elite, but hardened.

The kind of soldiers who survive by grinding, not by talent.

Vanguard classes dominate the front—heavy armor, tower shields, maces and warhammers built for sustained melee. Behind them, the backline is a mix of mages, sorcerers, and ranged support classes, their staves and codices already glowing with pre-channeled energy.

Oliver falls into step beside me in the vanguard cluster. His warhammer is balanced on his shoulder. The limp is almost gone—just a slight hitch in his stride that he’s forcing through by sheer stubbornness.

I unclip Eventide from my belt and hold the hilt loose at my side.

Let’s see if the monsters here bleed like any other.

"ATTENTION!"

Boris’s voice erupts from somewhere ahead, carrying across the entire formation with the raw, physical force of a man whose lungs were built for exactly this purpose.

Every soldier and fighter snaps to position. Weapons up. Shields forward. Stances locked.

A single figure pushes through to the front of the formation—a flag bearer, tall and gaunt, carrying a massive standard on a reinforced iron pole.

The banner unfurls in the hot desert wind.

A golden shield bearing a runic ark at its center, framed by celestial wings. Below it, a nautical compass with no needles.

The symbol of a city that has no direction home, only the will to endure.

Lost Ark.

The stampede of the Red Tide is so close now that small stones on the ground are bouncing with each collective impact. The vibration climbs through my boots, through my knees, into my spine. The dust cloud fills the entire horizon, blotting out the low stars.

Beneath the cloud, I can see them now. Individual shapes. Thousands of them. A churning, screaming wave of claws and teeth and hunger, pouring across the desert floor toward us with the unstoppable momentum of an avalanche.

"HOLD!" Boris roars.

The formation doesn’t breathe.

"HOLD!"

The ground shakes so hard my vision blurs.

"NOW!!!"

The banner of Lost Ark swings through the air with violent fervor. The golden shield catches the light of the city’s torches and blazes like a second sun.

It’s the final signal.

A sound like a massive swarm of bees descends from the sky. The starry night plunges into total darkness. Countless arrows and bolts blot out the stars, whistling overhead like a rain that heralds death.

The war begins.