The aftermath of the Weaver's defeat hung in the air like a lingering storm, the tension palpable. The Guardians stood amidst the smoking remains of the shattered staff, their bodies weary from the exertion, but their minds were already racing to the next move.
"We don't have much time," Elara said, her voice urgent. "The Weaver's magic will have alerted others."
Morgana nodded, scanning the area with a flick of her fingers, drawing symbols in the air. "The ley lines are still unstable from the disruption, but that won't hold them off for long. We need to be out of here before reinforcements arrive."
Doran grunted as he flexed his shoulder, still feeling the force of the earlier blow. "It's only a matter of time before the Weavers send their best hunters after us. That last one was strong, but we've faced worse."
