The misty island and its small stone shrine disappeared behind them as they stepped back onto the Sunken Path. The Whispering Mire was quiet once more, the malevolent presence that had been hunting them having retreated into the depths of the swamp.
They had won the battle, but the silence that followed was not one of peace. It was the tense, watchful silence of a predator that had been wounded and was now planning its next, more cunning attack.
Rhys led the way, his simple iron sword in hand. The bite mark on his arm was completely gone, his Void-Tempered Immortal Body having left no trace of the injury.
But a different kind of wound remained. The vision the Weaver had shown him, the image of Sera standing alone in the Ashen Dimension, her eyes empty, her voice a whisper of abandonment, had shaken him more than any physical blow ever could.
It was a cruel, targeted attack, a reminder of the one thing in the universe he truly feared losing.