The forest, once an oppressive labyrinth of shadows and malevolence, was now eerily quiet. The runes on the shattered altar still emitted faint pulses of dark energy, but their power had been significantly diminished. The mist that had choked the air was lifting, allowing the first rays of dawn to break through the dense canopy, casting a golden light over the clearing.
Elara, still catching her breath, surveyed the scene. Her body ached from the intense battle, and she was covered in dirt and grime, but there was a glimmer of victory in her eyes. The Weaver's ritual had been disrupted, but she knew it was only a temporary respite. The real threat was far from over.
The rest of the Guardians were gathering themselves, tending to minor injuries and regrouping. Morgana was already at work, her hands weaving spells to purify the area of any lingering dark magic.
"Is everyone alright?" Elara asked, her voice carrying the weight of exhaustion but also resolve.
