The earth trembled as the first guardian swung a root-arm thicker than my torso. I rolled, coughing on dust. Lyra darted forward, twin blades flashing, carving shallow grooves into bark that sealed almost instantly.
"They heal?" I shouted.
"They endure," she snapped, vaulting over a root sweep. "Buy us an opening!"
I scrambled to my bag, yanking out a half-finished "rock bomb." My "prototype" fizzled, sparked, and then exploded like a toddler's firecracker. The nearest guardian paused, more annoyed than damaged.
"Okay, version two!" I flung another. This one burst into a spray of sparks that lit up the grove. It staggered the guardian just long enough for Lyra to slam both daggers into a glowing knot. The wooden giant let out a screech like snapping timber before collapsing into splinters.
The others advanced, eyes burning brighter. The whispers grew deafening.
"Thieves… thieves…"
I grabbed a Spiritwood shard, shoved it into my voltage bracer, and prayed. The bracer hummed, light surging through the veins of the wood. When the next guardian swung, I countered with a shockwave. The collision rattled every bone in my body—but the guardian's arm cracked.
Lyra landed beside me, panting. "Now you're learning."
"Or dying creatively!" I wheezed.
Together, we cut down two more guardians before the survivors melted back into the dark. For now, the forest had spoken: warning delivered.