The momentary triumph shattered like fragile crystal.
The Goddess of the Forest stood tall for one final, radiant moment, her chest heaving, golden blood tracing luminous paths down her luminous skin. The root sword and tide sword still glowed fiercely in her hands, their combined light pushing back the black mist. Yet the victory was illusory.
Above the glade, the sky began to change.
Golden sunlight fractured and died as thick, bruised clouds rolled in from all directions — heavy, oppressive, and unnaturally swift. The once-vibrant azure heavens turned slate-gray, then deep charcoal, swallowing the light whole. A cold, unnatural wind howled through the trees, carrying the scent of decay and forgotten graves. The river's crystal waters grew darker, reflecting the stormy sky like a mirror of impending doom. Flowers that had bloomed in defiance now wilted rapidly, their petals falling like dying stars into the churning river.
The scattered fragments of the shadow figure stirred.
