The sunlight—or what passed for it in the violet wasteland—spilled over his face as he looked ahead, the faint silhouettes of the giant dwarves' banners fluttering in the distance. A small smile tugged at his lips.
"It's time to return," he said quietly before setting off across the scarred ground, leaving behind the den that had nearly become his tomb.
The air outside the den was heavy and dry. The faint glow of the violet wasteland reflected off the cracked ground, creating a strange shimmer that stretched toward the horizon.
Far in the distance, Max could see the faint silhouettes of countless figures gathered together—those were the village chiefs and their warriors, assembled near what appeared to be the main entrance of the Devouring Ants' den.
'So that's where they gathered,' Max thought quietly, his gaze lingering in that direction. His position, however, was nowhere near them.
