The Grove Guardian finally settled, its massive form pressing against the towering Heartstone. The light within the cleared channels pulsed gently, a steady heartbeat connecting the ancient creature to its anchor. Lyra, her shoulders slumped, let the last of her Divine Power flow, then swayed, catching herself on the rough stone of the monolith. Her green eyes, though tired, held a spark of triumph.
"It will rest now," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "It will heal, and its Aura will stabilize. It might sleep for decades, even centuries, before it stirs again." She looked at Ren, a mix of exhaustion and curiosity on her face. "You absorbed that ward. How?"
Ren didn't immediately respond. He walked over to the unconscious Night Prowlers, moving quickly and quietly. A swift action ensured they wouldn't pose a threat again. It was cold and efficient, earning him a faint grimace from Lyra. He then wiped his blade clean on a patch of moss.
"It's a technique," Ren finally said, his voice flat. "A specific application of Aura to neutralize uncontrolled magical output." He didn't offer more, and Lyra, sensing his reluctance, didn't press. She was a Rune Weaver, after all; understanding subtle energies was part of her craft.
"We should move," Ren said, scanning the surrounding forest. "The commotion will have drawn other things. And you're exhausted."
Lyra nodded, pushing herself upright with a groan. "I need to rest. Channeling that much Divine Power... it takes a toll." She looked around the dimly lit clearing. "But where? We can't stay here. This place is sacred and dangerous for those not attuned."
Ren surveyed the area. The dense forest, the looming Heartstone. His internal compass, honed by years of roaming wild lands, pointed to a small ravine he had noted about a mile back. It had a natural overhang, good cover, and was far enough from the immediate spiritual pulse of the Heartstone to be safe.
"There's a hollow to the west," Ren said, turning. "Natural shelter. It will do for the night."
Lyra didn't argue. She trusted his judgment, or maybe she was just too tired to care. As they moved, Ren stayed alert, his ears picking up the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. The air was colder now, and the silence of the forest deepened as true night set in. Lyra walked quietly beside him, her fatigue evident in her slower pace. He noticed a slight tremor in her hands and how she occasionally stumbled.
They reached the hollow just as the moon climbed higher, casting a silvery glow through the gaps in the trees. It was just as Ren remembered: a shallow indentation in the earth, protected by a large, jutting rock face. Not luxurious, but dry and sheltered from the wind.
Ren gathered some dry branches and leaves, quickly building a small, smokeless fire with a flick of his wrist and a spark of Mana, a simple trick. The small flames cast dancing shadows on the rock walls, pushing back the heavy darkness. He didn't talk much. His movements were precise, quiet, and efficient. He laid out his bedroll, a thin but surprisingly warm blanket, near the fire.
Lyra sank down onto a flat stone opposite him, pulling a small, worn leather pouch from her cloak. She took out a piece of dried meat and some hard bread. "Not exactly a feast," she mumbled, offering him half.
Ren took it without a word. He ate slowly, his eyes still on the entrance to the hollow, ever watchful. The silence between them wasn't awkward, but watchful. Lyra, despite her weariness, studied him with an intensity that revealed a deep, analytical mind, much like his own. She wasn't just a powerful Rune Weaver; she was observant.
"Why are you out here, Ren?" Lyra finally asked, her voice soft. "Shadow Walkers are whispers, rumors. They don't typically involve themselves in things like... agitated Guardians."
Ren chewed slowly, considering his response. He didn't often share his reasons. "Disruption," he finally said, his voice low, "draws attention. It always does." He glanced at her. "What were you doing so close to a Heartstone? This far north from... anywhere."
Lyra sighed, a wisp of steam rising in the cold night air. "My family, the Rune Weavers, have always kept watch over these places. They're vital. A long time ago, our ancestors made a pact with the land itself to protect these anchor points of Ancient Divine Power. We're few now, scattered, but the duty remains." She picked at her bread. "I sensed the Guardian's unrest. It was... a cry. And I followed it, hoping to help. I never expected to find it this far from our known territories, or so deeply agitated."
She looked at him, her green eyes reflecting the firelight. "There are others, like me. Hidden. Most of the world believes the Rune Weavers are just old tales, like the Heartstones themselves." She paused, then, a hint of something more in her tone. "But someone else is disturbing these places. Someone who wants to wake what sleeps. Or perhaps, what shouldn't."
Ren's gaze sharpened. Disturbing what sleeps. This wasn't random. This was intentional. It fit perfectly with his own conclusions.
"We need to find out why," Ren said, his voice steady, conveying the weight of an unspoken decision.
Lyra nodded, a tired but determined look in her eyes. "We do." She finished her meal, then leaned back against the rock, closing her eyes. "Thank you, Ren. For tonight."
Ren didn't respond, his gaze returning to the shadows beyond their small fire. An alliance formed by circumstance and shared purpose. He had sought knowledge, and it seemed he had found a guide. But the secrets of the Heartstones and the Ancient Divine Power they anchored felt like a thread leading into a much larger, darker picture.