The remnants of the shattered beacon left an uneasy stillness in the air as the trio moved cautiously through the Shadowlands. The oppressive weight of the encounter with Lyria hung over them like a shroud, and the runes etched into Eryndor’s skin pulsed faintly, a constant reminder of their shared burden.
Kaelen broke the silence, his voice laced with frustration. “We can’t keep doing this. She’s stronger every time, and we’re just… surviving. Barely.”
Seris, his sword resting on his shoulder, nodded solemnly. “He’s right. This isn’t just a fight we can win by enduring. Lyria is tied to the runes, and as long as that connection exists, she will keep coming back.”
Eryndor stopped, turning to face them. “I know. But what are you suggesting? That we destroy the runes? Sever ourselves from
