Art by   Woli-co.

Saras clearly doesn’t grasp the concept of an ambush. Instead of lying in wait like the rest of his comrades, he charges off recklessly, vanishing into the underbrush with wild abandon. What did he see? Elves? Solamnic Knights? A squirrel, maybe? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter to him.

Dimaar and Creel remain crouched in the dense bushes as planned, tense and alert. But nearby, Authix and Vaask exchange a look of disbelief before lunging after Saras, trying to rein him in before he ruins their carefully laid trap.

Yet Saras, with his eyes blazing and a strange grin on his face, doesn’t even glance back. He was promised stone statue of himself, a warrior’s monument reserved for any baaz draconian that happens to die gloriously in battle. It seems to be the only thing he cares about. Every reckless step brings him closer to the death he craves, and further away from the mission that still depends on him.