The Forest of Twin Disasters did not rest. It was always active.
Even after Garrick collapsed to his knees beside the withered corpse of the Bloodroot Tyrant, the forest remained awake—watching, listening, waiting. It felt like a living organism after Damien had read about it.
The ancient trees whispered among themselves, roots shifting beneath the soil as mana flowed like unseen veins through the land.
Damien stood quietly, gaze sweeping the surroundings. He felt it clearly now. The pressure. Not hostility, not yet—but expectation. The forest was weighing them.
Garrick followed Damien's gaze, chest heaving. "We're not done, are we?"
"No," Damien replied calmly. "Not even close."
Garrick forced himself to stand, wincing as muscles protested. He rolled his shoulders, testing movement. Still functional. Barely. "Then let's keep moving. If I slow down, I die anyway."
Damien nodded. "This time, I'll help."
