Lying on the cold, damp earth of the ridge, Ren felt the tendrils of despair lick at the edges of his resolve. The sheer scale of the enemy's operation was paralyzing. Dozens of robed figures, a monstrous, pulsating heart of pure blight, and a captive Guardian of immense power. He was one boy, a universe away from the safety of the Sanctuary, and utterly, hopelessly outmatched. The whispers of his final trial returned, no longer a memory but a reflection of the scene before him. You will fail. You are too small.
He squeezed his eyes shut. A warm, firm pressure on his hand brought him back. He looked down. Shiro had slithered from his tunic and was nudging his fingers, his golden eyes fixed on Ren's. There was no fear in that gaze, only a fierce, unwavering loyalty. In that moment, a single, clear thought, not his own but a perfect echo of it, passed through their bond: We are not one boy. We are two, as one.
The despair vanished, burned away by a cold, sharp anger. Shiro was right. He was not alone. He was a Guardian with a partner, and he had a mission. He let out a slow breath and began to study the scene below not as a terrified boy, but as a predator studying its prey.
His eyes traced the lines of faint, violet energy flowing from the chanting Hollow into the Blight Heart. The ritual required their absolute focus. The Heart itself was the lynchpin; if it shattered, the entire system would collapse. That had to be his only target. A direct assault was impossible, but a single, perfectly aimed strike might just be enough. His plan began to form, a desperate gambit built on stealth, timing, and the one weapon they would never anticipate.
First, he needed to get closer. The ridge was too far. He spotted a path, a treacherous route down the incline that would use a massive, fallen redwood and a cluster of jagged rocks as cover, bringing him within fifty yards of the circle's edge.
Second, he needed a diversion. The Hollow were focused, but a significant disturbance would have to be investigated. His gaze fell upon another rotted giant of a tree on the far side of the clearing, its base already half-eaten by the blight.
The plan was set. He gave Shiro a single, decisive nod. The snake understood instantly and coiled tightly around his forearm, ready. Ren began his descent, moving with a fluid silence that the spirits of the glade would have been proud of. He slid down slick roots, crawled through black mire, his senses on fire. The chanting of the Hollow grew louder, a monotonous, evil drone that tried to lull the mind into submission. His scar throbbed in time with the pulsing of the Heart, a painful, nauseating rhythm.
He reached his final position behind the cluster of rocks, his heart pounding against his ribs. He could see the individual robed figures now, could almost feel the cold malice rolling off them. He peered at the great bear, Olthann, and a wave of pity and fury washed through him. The Guardian's great head was bowed, its breath coming in ragged shudders. But it was not yet broken.
Ren knew he couldn't speak to the bear with words, but he could speak with intent. He closed his eyes for a second, focusing his will, and pushed a single, clear feeling across the clearing—the pure, silver light of the Sanctuary, the memory of the Eldest's presence, a feeling of shared life and defiance. You are not alone. A Guardian is here. Fight with me.
He felt a faint flicker in response through the chaotic energy of the clearing—a surge of ancient, indomitable will from the bear. A low growl rumbled from Olthann's chest.
It was time.
Ren focused on the rotted redwood across the clearing. He drew a small, precise amount of water from the mire, compressed it, and sent a thin, almost invisible jet lancing through the air. It struck the weakened base of the tree with a sharp crack. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a great, groaning splinter, the colossal tree toppled over, crashing to the ground with a sound that momentarily overwhelmed the chanting.
As he'd hoped, the ritual faltered. Five of the Hollow on that side of the circle broke off, gliding towards the disturbance to investigate. It was the opening he needed.
"Now, Shiro!"
He didn't need to speak. He threw the gate of their bond wide open. Power surged into the small snake, which lit up with a blinding golden radiance. At the exact same moment, roused by Ren's call and the distraction, Olthann threw his great head back and unleashed a colossal roar of pure, defiant agony. For a critical second, every remaining Hollow was distracted, their heads turning towards their captive.
In that perfect instant of opportunity, Shiro struck.
He didn't move. He simply opened his mouth and unleashed the full, unrestrained power of their symbiotic bond. A silent, focused beam of brilliant, golden-white energy, the Serpent's Roar, shot across the clearing. It was the antithesis of the blight—a weapon of pure life, connection, and will.
The beam crossed the fifty yards in a heartbeat and struck the pulsating Blight Heart dead center.
There was no explosion. There was only a soundless flash of light, and then a single, high-pitched, crystalline CRACK that seemed to tear a hole in the very fabric of reality.