Chapter 152: The Confluence of Blades
The cove became a clockwork of grim purpose. Kaelen's strategy was not a shield, but a series of interlocking jaws. Fishing nets, weighted with sharpened stones, were strung across cliff paths to be released as entangling cascades. Pits were dug and lined with silent, resonant crystals tuned to the specific psychic signatures of their enemies a gift from the wounded Tending Glade, delivered by a somber Kieran. The air itself was seeded with Potential flower pollen, creating zones of gentle, confusing disorientation that would soften an attacker's focus before they met steel.
Lyra was the architect of this terrible geometry. She moved through the cove like a ghost, adjusting a glyph here, refining a resonance trap there. Her concussion had settled into a permanent, low-grade throb behind her eyes, a metronome for her work. She avoided the cottage. The sight of her mother's empty shell was a vulnerability she could not afford.
