The pale roots struck with mechanical precision. One lashed toward Hargin's chaotic metronome. Silas tackled the dwarf aside, and the root smashed the device to splinters and brass shards. The moment the irregular rhythm ceased, the logic-field snapped back to full strength, sealing them inside the dead circle.
Trapped, with hostile roots and a re-stabilized negation field.
"Defensive protocol!" Hargin yelled, scrambling to his feet and drawing a heavy wrench. "The node has a physical guardian! Some kind of... organic construct!"
Lyra was already acting. She couldn't commune with these fake roots, but she could with the real forest. She threw her arms wide and let out a piercing, melodic cry—a call for aid. From the surrounding woods, real roots—dark, gnarled, and alive—surged from the
