The guardian changed its approach.
There was no roar, no sudden burst of speed meant to announce the shift. It simply stopped hesitating. The pauses vanished. The space between its movements closed, and the Shard in its chest began to pulse with a slower, heavier cadence that pressed against the air itself.
It advanced.
Each step sank into the ground, chains scraping and grinding as they dragged across stone reinforced by Elyra's magic. The terrain held for a moment longer than it should have—then cracked anyway, fractures spreading like stress lines in glass.
Garron moved to meet it.
Mana flooded his body without restraint, muscle hardening past comfort into something raw and punishing. He caught the first blow straight on, arms locking around a chain-wrapped limb as it came down. The impact drove the breath from his lungs and shoved him back, boots skidding, stone screaming under the strain.
He stayed upright.
