The town buzzed when I returned.
Not loudly—this wasn't a city that panicked easily—but with the low, constant murmur of people sharing stories they didn't quite believe themselves. I caught fragments as I passed through the market.
"—hunters woke up miles away—"
"—forest went quiet again—"
"—said a cloaked man walked out at dusk—"
I kept my head down and my pace steady.
[Reputation shift detected: Local.]
I didn't need the system to tell me that. Stabilizing Blackroot had left fingerprints—not magical ones, but narrative ones. People remembered the outcome even if they couldn't explain the cause.
At the guild hall, the clerk looked up as I entered, one eyebrow rising.
"You came back alive," he said. "Forest's calm too."
"Is that a complaint?" I asked.
He snorted and slid a small pouch across the counter. "Hunters were found. Shaken, but breathing. You did more than the notice asked."
I pocketed the reward without counting it.
"That forest's seal was old," I said. "It'll hold longer now. But not forever."
He studied me for a moment, then leaned closer. "You some kind of specialist?"
"Something like that."
He nodded slowly. "Thought so."
As I turned away, voices near the board caught my attention.
"…they say he doesn't cast spells," one adventurer whispered.
"Yeah? Then how'd he fix Blackroot?"
"Dunno. But there's talk. Folks are calling him a Guardian."
My steps slowed.
Too fast.
Names were dangerous.
I left the hall before the rumor could take root any deeper.
Outside, a rider galloped through the street, mud-splattered and pale. He reined in hard near the notice post, shouting for attention.
"Message from the river towns!" he called. "Another incident—memory sickness spread overnight. Two villages affected!"
The Authority Fragment stirred sharply.
[Alert.]
[Pattern detected: Coordinated failures.]
Not random.
Not decay.
Something—or someone—was moving seals like pieces on a board.
I stepped closer as the rider unrolled a map and jabbed a finger along the river's course.
"Here," he said. "And here. Same symptoms. People forgetting faces. Roads leading nowhere."
Roads leading nowhere meant conceptual interference.
Partition scars.
My jaw tightened.
Someone else is using the same ideas.
I slipped away before questions could turn toward me and followed the river road at a distance, keeping to the fields. As dusk deepened, the pressure became unmistakable—thin seams in reality stitched too roughly, like hurried repairs.
[Partition residue detected.]
Not my work.
Cruder.
Impatient.
By nightfall, I reached a low hill overlooking the nearest village. Lanterns burned dimly below, their light flickering as if uncertain what it was meant to illuminate.
At the riverbank, a figure stood knee-deep in water, tracing symbols that glowed faintly before sinking beneath the surface.
A woman.
Cloaked. Hood back. Hair bound tight.
She turned as I approached, eyes sharp and assessing—nothing hollow about them.
"Don't come closer," she said calmly. "This layer isn't stable yet."
I stopped.
"You're partitioning the river," I said. "That's why villages are losing continuity."
She frowned. "I'm saving them. The seals were collapsing. I separated the damage."
"Without anchoring," I replied. "You're bleeding memory downstream."
Her hand tightened.
"So you're the one from Blackroot," she said. "The one who did it right."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"I did it carefully," I said. "There's a difference."
She studied me, then laughed softly. "You sound just like my teacher."
A chill ran through me.
"Who taught you?" I asked.
Her smile faded.
"The Academy," she said. "Before I left."
Of course.
"I'm Mara," she continued. "And you're the Guardian everyone's whispering about."
"I don't like the title," I said.
"Good," she replied. "Neither do I."
The river shimmered uneasily between us, caught in half-finished layers.
Two Guardians.
Two methods.
One world already straining.
Mara met my gaze, serious now.
"They're breaking faster than we can patch them," she said. "So what do we do when restraint isn't enough?"
I looked at the river, feeling the strain in my bones.
"We slow down," I said. "Together. Or we tear it apart separately."
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then she stepped back from the water and let the symbols fade.
"Fine," she said. "Show me how you anchor."
The night wind stirred the river's surface.
Somewhere upstream, a seal held—for now.
But I knew the truth as clearly as I felt the current beneath my boots:
The age of solitary Guardians was ending.
And whatever came next would not be gentle.