The sun climbed higher in the sky as the Guardians emerged from the dark fortress, weary but victorious. The once ominous stronghold now stood quiet, its dark energy vanquished by the ley lines that pulsed faintly beneath the earth. A stillness hung in the air, broken only by the soft breeze that carried the scent of rain and freshly stirred earth.
Elara, though exhausted, led the way across the plateau. Behind her, the others followed in silence, their thoughts heavy with the weight of the battle they had just endured. Lyra still carried the remnants of shadow magic on her clothes, the stains of dark energy from their fight with the Weaver refusing to fade easily. Doran's shield was scorched from the intensity of the battle, and Henry's crossbow, though still functional, showed signs of wear.
"That was too close," Doran finally muttered as they descended the rocky path from the fortress.
