Gasping, Ishit doubled over with his hands on his knees. Non-stop sprinting for more than a pahar (three hours) had depleted every ounce of his strength. However, he had made it to the city. Ignoring his aching lungs, he looked in the distance.
The red sun was the gash in the bruised sky. Below the ruddy sun stood a colossal statue of an armoured warrior holding a spear in his right hand and a shield in the other.
Around his feet was sprawling the last city of Glassia as though prostrating in reverence of the unsung hero.
Vasta had a rampart as high as the west of the stone statute, unlike the small villages or towns he had passed on his way here.
Ishit steadied his shaking feet and stood up. He had to hurry, or no villagers would be left to tell the horror the defilers. Though Ishit had warned every village on his way, he doubted they would take it seriously.
