The crossroads lay exactly where Mara said it would.
Two old trade roads intersected in a clearing of cracked stone and knee-high grass, their paths worn thin by centuries of travel and abandonment. At the center stood the shrine—small, circular, and broken. Half its roof had collapsed inward, exposing weathered pillars carved with symbols no one used anymore.
Neutral ground.
Not because it was safe—
But because it was forgotten.
[Residual ward presence: Minimal.]
[Interference risk: Low.]
I arrived first.
Dawn hadn't fully broken yet, the sky painted in pale gray and bruised purple. I stood just outside the shrine's circle, letting my presence settle without pushing against the space. Places like this reacted poorly to force.
I waited.
Time stretched.
Then the air shifted.
Not sharply—subtly, like the pressure change before rain.
Mara stepped out from between two leaning stones, cloak drawn tight, eyes alert.
"You didn't bring anyone," she said.
"Neither did you."
"Good."
She moved to the edge of the shrine and stopped, testing the boundary with a careful step before entering. The wards stirred faintly, acknowledged her, then fell still.
"Two more might come," she said. "If they haven't already crossed their own lines."
I nodded. "And if they have?"
"Then they won't come at all."
We stood in silence, listening to the wind move through broken stone.
"You were right," Mara said after a moment. "About something pushing this."
I turned slightly. "What did you find?"
She reached into her cloak and withdrew a small object—no larger than a coin. It looked like glass at first glance, but its surface bent light unevenly, as if the concept of reflection didn't quite apply.
"Found this near a collapsed seal," she said. "Not a fragment. Not a spell."
I felt it immediately.
A cold, directional pull.
[Anomalous artifact detected.]
[Classification: External influence — Unknown.]
"It doesn't erase," Mara continued. "It encourages erasure. Makes it easier. Quieter."
I took a careful step closer but didn't touch it.
"A catalyst," I said. "Or a lure."
"Yes," she replied. "And it wasn't alone."
The shrine's air tightened.
Footsteps crunched on stone.
A third presence entered the clearing—a man in worn traveling clothes, posture rigid, eyes too still. His mana was controlled to the point of sterility.
Stable.
Barely.
"I almost didn't come," he said. "Thought this was a trap."
"Everything is," Mara replied. "Some just admit it."
He glanced at me. "You're the one they're calling Warden."
"I didn't choose the name," I said.
"No one ever does," he replied.
He stepped into the shrine, wincing as the wards brushed against him.
"There's something wrong," he said quietly. "Seals are failing in sequence. Not randomly."
My chest tightened.
"That confirms it," I said. "This isn't decay. It's direction."
Mara closed her fist around the artifact. "So what now?"
I looked at the broken shrine—the forgotten symbols, the neutral ground, the thin line of stability holding because no one cared enough to exploit it.
"We stop reacting," I said. "We map the pattern. We find the source."
"And if the source is another Guardian?" the man asked.
I didn't answer immediately.
Because that possibility had been growing heavier with every chapter.
"Then," I said at last, "we remind them what restraint looks like."
The wind picked up, carrying dust through the clearing. For a moment, the broken shrine felt almost whole—like it remembered what it was meant to be.
Three of us stood there.
Not an order.
Not an institution.
Just people who knew the cost—and were still willing to pay attention.
Somewhere beyond the crossroads, forgotten magic shifted again, subtle and patient.
And for the first time, I understood the truth clearly:
The Guardian's greatest enemy wasn't erasure.
It was certainty.
And whatever was pushing the world toward forgetting was counting on us to choose it.