As the light faded, the forest remained quiet. The Holy Ground dimmed to a soft golden glow, now part of the land itself, purified and blessed.
Where the Matron once stood, only three objects remained, glowing, untouched by corruption:
A large, gleaming Magic Stone, brimming with condensed mana, the size of a human heart. Its energy pulsed in time with the world, a perfect catalyst for spells or weaponry.
The second one is The Final Rune. It shimmered as the other two runes in their possession pulsed in recognition.
The last one is A small, jagged relic. It looked like part of a broken divine mask, blackened at the edges but still humming with ancient power.
It didn't glow like the others; it whispered softly in a voice that wasn't human, beast, or spirit.
Caldwell approached it first, his instincts screaming with unease.
As he picked it up, the air grew colder, not in temperature, but in presence, as if the world had paused to witness his act.
