At the southern edge of the Northern Frontier lay Pine Valley, a little village forgotten by the maps.
It stood on the edge of a forested stretch of hills, hidden year-round by mist and pine woods. Its hundred-odd residents worked at sunrise and rested at sunset, making it one of the better-off villages in the Northern Frontier.
Until that day, when the nightmare arrived.
It was not a large-scale descent of a Brood Hive, merely a few scouting Insect Corpses. But for a little village with almost no fighting strength, that was already a catastrophe.
"Monsters! Everyone, run!!"
Tarr, the village hunter, was the first to shout the warning from the forest's edge.
Then came chaos.
Cries, stumbling footsteps, the sound of flesh being gnawed, and lit torches swinging wildly in panic.
Elwin, the blacksmith, swung a forging hammer that had yet to cool, trying to bring down an Insect Corpse charging at him.
The instant the hammer struck its shell, sparks flew, like the faint, unyielding flame in his eyes.
Then his right arm was torn apart.
"Forget about me... run!!"
He roared, using his remaining hand to push the little girl behind him toward safety.
But Tarr caught hold of him and dragged him away. Blood spilled from his shoulder, staining the mountain trail beneath their feet red.
They fled into a cave near the village.
It was the remains of an old mine, long sealed by dust and vines.
But in that moment, it became another word for life.
In the end, only twenty-four people made it into the cave alive.
The elderly, women, children, and the young blacksmith, unconscious and bleeding without end.
They clung to life on the dry rations they had left and rainwater trickling down the rock walls. The cave was dark, damp,