Gary Smith's voice, calm and steady, echoed above the altar, kindling a glimmer of hope in the many desperate human survivors. Their eyes filled with tears, they knelt on the ground, continuously kowtowing in gratitude.
"Thank you… Thank you!"
Then, they began to claim their family members, vowing to do everything in their power to bring them back down to safety.
Even so, only a small fraction of the breeders were claimed; the majority remained unrecognized, likely relatives of the plundered human populace.
Gary watched the scene in silence. He turned, mounted the Third Disaster Peacock, and began navigating the sea of fire in search of the next altar's location.
Ginger Thorn stood there, staring dumbfounded at his receding figure, the pain that had permeated the altar dissipating significantly in just a moment.
She seemed to understand something and, shouldering her Thorn Battle Axe, followed after him.
