They made camp at the edge of the thawed basin, snow turned to slush and steam rising faintly off the stone where Snow's fire had kissed it. No more beasts came. No more whispers. Just stillness.
But it wasn't peace.
It was the breath before a scream.
Serene sat near the remains of their fire, repairing the leather straps on her gauntlet.
Her hands trembled slightly—not from cold, but from the weight of what they'd seen. "That… thing. The Warden. It wasn't alive. It was bound."
Arthur, pacing slowly nearby, nodded. "Its heart was a fragment. One of the obelisk shards. That's what's keeping the corruption alive. Someone's embedding them in guardians, using the anchors as prisons instead of stabilizers."
"And the fragments get stronger with every anchor we reach," Gregor added. "I felt it. That one hit harder than the last."
