High upon the central knoll of the ancient willow grove, Eirwen stood with her unstrung bow resting against her hip while scouts marked the roads below.
Eirwen raised one hand to still the scouts and listened to the change in the grove's roots before letting anyone approach the lower relay.
Deep beneath the loam, the colossal taproots vibrated with alarming violence, humming with the discordant frequency of thousands of enslaved minds.
The Choral Incarnation unleashed its full national command wave, sending a tidal surge of psychic poison crashing through the subterranean channels.
The hostile frequency sought to overwrite the patient conduits Vella prepared, intending to burn out every civilian brain connected to the relay network.
"Hold the evacuation lines!" Eirwen shouted to the tenders, her clear voice ringing like a silver bell over the rising wind.
"Get those injured militia members into the warded trenches before the feedback spikes reach critical mass!"
