Uriel remained still for a few seconds after Miguel uttered that word.

Ogres.

The term not only fit the scene before them, but seemed to wrap the atmosphere in an even heavier weight, as if everything suddenly made more sense—and at the same time, became more unsettling. The mangled bodies, the flesh torn away with almost grotesque precision, the bones snapped as if they had been nothing more than dry branches—all pointed to brutal, voracious creatures. But there was something more, something that didn’t quite add up.

He exhaled slowly and took a step forward, then another, without taking his eyes off the corpses.

Back on Earth, he had heard stories about ogres as a child. Some were children’s tales about pitiful creatures searching for their place in the world; others, however, told of brutal beasts like the scene now laid out before him.

"There’s something strange here."

Miguel frowned immediately, clearly confused.

"What do you mean?"

Uriel crouched beside one of the bodies, studying the wounds, the posture, the distribution of the remains across the ground. This wasn’t just a slaughter. There were patterns. There had been resistance. The scene couldn’t be as simple as ogres devouring people.

"Maybe this was the work of ogres, but..."

"But?"

Miguel paid close attention to Uriel’s words.

"I think there’s something different here. Don’t you think this is a bit too chaotic for people who were just feeding?"

Vladimir let out a short laugh, crossing his arms.

"More chaotic than this?"

Uriel looked up at him, unfazed.

Miguel also seemed skeptical. At the end of the day, what was clear was that there had been a fight—of course there would be chaos in a situation like this.

"Yes. This was a battle. There was formation, defense, impact—even retreat." He pointed to the ground, where drag marks and disordered footsteps told the rest of the story. "They lost, but they weren’t ambushed like prey. This looks more like a confrontation—and the cannibalism came afterward."

Anastasia, who had already approached another corpse, dropped to one knee and ran her hand through the remains, sinking it into the viscera and entrails. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly as she analyzed the lingering energy traces, a small smile of satisfaction forming on her face.

"Heh... this feels nice," she murmured, tilting her head. Uriel felt a chill run down his spine. "There are clean cuts, but also tearing. That means more than one type of attack—brute force and something more precise."

Miguel narrowed his eyes, clearly uneasy with the conclusion.

"So... ogres... but not just ogres?"

"Or ogres that are far too sophisticated. It could also have been a three-way fight between multiple creatures," Anastasia replied with a faint smile. "Which, personally, I find much more concerning, comrades."

The silence that followed wasn’t calm. It was heavy, filled with tension that slowly seeped into each of them.

Ininise, who hadn’t spoken until now, stepped forward and raised her gaze slightly toward the surrounding structures, her expression as composed as ever.

"We’re not alone."

There was no doubt in her voice, no need for explanation. Uriel was more than aware of her mind-reading abilities—if Ininise said someone was nearby, then it was certain.

Vladimir smiled, as if that confirmation was exactly what he had been waiting for.

Uriel, on the other hand, showed no visible reaction. Instead, he focused on the hammer in his hands. The faint golden pulse was still there, almost imperceptible, yet constant—like a heartbeat synchronized with something distant. In front of him, the golden thread manifested again, clearer this time, stretching between the ruins like a silent guide.

It was still calling him.

"Let’s keep moving."

Maybe Miguel’s fanaticism had rubbed off on him a little, but Uriel felt that he had to reach the place of the prophecy.

No one objected.

As they ventured deeper, the environment began to change in a way none of them could ignore. What had started as a ruined cemetery began to take on a more defined, almost urban structure. Graves gave way to solid constructions, mausoleums rose like towers worn down by time, and the inscriptions on the stones grew more complex, older... and completely unknown.

The air grew heavier—not with the same negative energy as before, but something else.

Each step felt like they were entering territory that did not belong to them.

The golden thread, however, shone brighter, as if the most dangerous places were exactly where they needed to go.

Uriel stopped abruptly.

"It’s reacting." The hammer pulsed stronger as they followed the golden light.

Miguel stepped closer immediately, his eyes shining with excitement.

"To what?"

There was no need to answer.

A distant sound broke the silence.

Deep.

Rhythmic.

Heavy.

Footsteps.

They weren’t fast or chaotic. They were steady, confident—and heavy enough to make the ground tremble slightly with each step.

One.

Two.

Three...

More than one.

The entire group tensed instantly.

Vladimir turned his neck slightly, smiling in anticipation. Uriel didn’t know him well, but his role in the group was clear—he craved battle.

Anastasia rose gracefully, brushing the dust from her clothes, her hands already clean, though her eyes were sharp, calculating.

Ininise was no longer where she had been a second ago.

Uriel didn’t need to see her to know she had repositioned herself.

Close to him. Always to his right. Always between Miguel and him.

The sound of footsteps grew clearer.

Closer.

And then...

They appeared.

First a shadow.

Then another.

And finally, emerging between the ruined structures, the full figures.

Ogres.

There was no doubt.

They were enormous—each one easily surpassing two and a half meters in height, with disproportionately muscular bodies covered in thick grayish-green skin marked by both old and recent scars. Their faces were brutal, with protruding jaws and exposed fangs, their small eyes filled with an unsettling intelligence.

But what stood out the most wasn’t their appearance.

It was their behavior.

Uriel had expected mindless, bloodthirsty beasts. What stood before him was far more troubling.

They didn’t charge.

They didn’t roar.

They didn’t lunge like animals.

They advanced in formation.

Slow.

Coordinated.

Watching with predator-like gazes.

Uriel felt his grip on the hammer tighten instinctively.

He couldn’t ignore how dangerous this situation was.

Miguel, beside him, moved his hand toward his sword, though golden energy was already beginning to gather around him once more.

There were five of them—a group just like theirs.

Some carried improvised weapons, massive chunks of metal or stone, but others... others wore clearly crafted equipment. Rudimentary armor, yes—but functional. Adapted to their bodies. Prepared.

One of them, taller than the rest, stepped forward.

His eyes locked directly onto Uriel.

Then onto the hammer.

And finally, onto the faint golden thread floating between both groups.

And he smiled.

A slow, heavy smile, filled with intent.

"So..." his voice was deep, heavy, but surprisingly clear, "you’re following the light too."

The silence that followed was thick.

Miguel was the first to react, unable to hide his surprise.

"You can see it?"

The ogre tilted his head slightly, as if the question itself were almost offensive.

"We feel it..." he replied. "It calls us just like it calls you, flesh."

Uriel felt a chill run down his spine.

The golden thread pulsed.

Stronger.

As if responding to those words.

As if connecting them.

Not just him.

All of them.

Vladimir let out a low laugh as he stepped forward menacingly, smiling as if ready for a fight.

Anastasia grinned widely, clearly fascinated by these new beings.

The leader took another step forward, and the others stopped just behind him, maintaining formation without any visible command—they followed him naturally.

"Many come for the light," he continued. "Many die for it." His fingers pointed behind him, toward the corpses of the other climbers.

His eyes locked onto Uriel again.

"But few truly hear it."

The hammer in Uriel’s hands vibrated slightly.

The same sensation as before.

That warmth.

That calling.

For a moment, the image of the vision crossed his mind again: golden fire, absolute destruction, and that figure.

That overwhelmingly powerful being wielding the flames and light of Soleil.

He tightened his grip.

He wouldn’t look away.

"You’re not going to stop us," he said firmly, holding his hammer. The others also moved their hands toward their weapons.

The ogre observed him for a few seconds more, evaluating him.

Then, slowly, his smile widened.

"Good."

Another step forward.

The ground trembled slightly beneath his weight.

"Then go ahead, flesh."

The entire group tensed.

But the ogre didn’t attack—that was what disturbed them the most.

Instead, he stepped aside slightly, leaving a path between the ruins, exactly in the direction the golden thread extended.

An invitation.

Or a test.

"Further ahead..." he added, "we’ll see if you’re worthy of its light."

Uriel didn’t respond.

But he moved forward.

A firm step ahead.

The others followed.

And as they passed by the ogres, feeling their heavy gazes upon them, one truth became clear to all of them:

They weren’t mere monsters.

They were climbers.