Hajin spent thirty minutes beneath Hans's covered redoubt while the severed mother thrashed inside its chamber.
Runners called each failed climb from the protected rim, where loose rock kept slipping beneath claws that drew no supply. Hajin drank between slow breathing cycles, scraping a small reserve through channels that no longer fought the apex's crushing pressure.
Juna sat beside the opening where the last evening sunlight reached her folded Wings.
"Three narrow rays," she said, testing the heat creeping back along one edge, "I can pin its crest for a moment, but there's no crescent left behind them."
"A moment's plenty," he grunted, curling his fingers around the supported chain without feeding a drop into its cracked links.
'A small reserve buys a small cut, so keep the cracked links clear of the stem.'
