The guardian's arm descended like a mountain falling. Roots flared with blinding green light, the air itself shuddering under the weight of its wrath.
Lyra yanked me sideways at the last possible heartbeat. The strike obliterated the ground where we'd stood, dirt and stone blasting upward in a wave that flung us both tumbling. I hit the earth hard enough to rattle teeth, my bracer sparking wildly, my lungs crushed of air.
"Keep running!" Lyra's voice cut through the ringing in my ears.
"I am running—just… horizontally!" I wheezed, scrambling up.
The guardian pulled its arm free of the crater. The glowing runes dimmed for a moment, flickering like a dying lantern. Lyra's sharp eyes caught it.
"It's slowing," she said. "They're bound to this forest. It can't chase us forever."
"Forever is generous—I'll take the next ten seconds!" I fumbled with a rock bomb, stuffing Spiritwood shards into the casing. I chucked it at the guardian's face. It burst into a blaze of white light, not damaging but buying us a few breaths.
That was enough. We bolted. Roots lashed at our heels, but each one slowed, dragging as if the forest itself had grown weary. By the time we broke through the treeline, the night was silent again—no whispers, no footsteps, only the frantic pounding of my heart.
We collapsed against a hillside. Lyra was breathing hard but steady. I lay on my back, staring at the stars like they were the most beautiful invention I'd ever seen.
"I am," I gasped, "never stealing eco-friendly firewood again."
Lyra just smirked faintly, wiping sweat from her brow. "You'll try again the next time you see a shiny stick."
"...Probably."
We stayed there until dawn, neither of us daring to re-enter the trees. By the time the sun rose, the forest behind us looked as peaceful as if nothing had happened. Which was somehow worse.
The road ahead sloped down toward a wide valley. And beyond that, sprawling against the horizon, was our destination.
The Port City of Veyra.
Where the last village felt like a backyard shop, this city was a living engine. Ships bristled in the harbor like teeth, their sails painted with merchant crests. The air reeked of salt and spices. Bells rang, gulls screeched overhead, and a thousand voices merged into one ceaseless hum of trade.
Lyra pulled her hood lower, eyes wary at the sheer number of people. For me, though? My jaw nearly unhinged.
"Lyra," I whispered reverently, "I think I just fell in love. With capitalism."
She groaned. "You're going to get us killed before lunch."
We pushed through the gates with the tide of travelers—sailors, adventurers, caravaners. Stalls lined the streets, stacked high with beast hides, gleaming ores, cages of exotic birds, jars of potions that smoked faintly.
I pressed my face almost against one stand where a vendor displayed crystal lenses. "Do you see this? Adjustable optics! With a few copper coils, I could turn that into a—"
Lyra grabbed my collar and dragged me away before I could start bartering. "Stop before you buy half the city."
I pouted, clutching my waist bag protectively. "This place is a goldmine. I'm telling you, if I don't make three new inventions before dinner, it'll be a crime against science."
But her grip tightened. She wasn't smiling. "JP. Remember—we didn't just escape that forest. We fled the last city. Merchants don't forget debts or grudges. Be careful."
I nodded, sobering. She was right. Here, every invention I sold could make us rich—or make us targets twice as fast.
And somewhere in the crowd, I swore I caught sight of eyes that lingered a moment too long. Watching. Measuring.
I forced a grin, even as unease coiled in my gut. "Well then. Let's make some money and some enemies."
Lyra sighed. "Mostly the latter."