The damp cool of the cavern had done much to settle Gabriel's internal mana-pressure, but the "static" in his veins remained. After three hours of silence—Gabriel motionless in a meditative trance and Genevieve watching him with the wary eyes of a cornered cat—he finally stood.
"The thermal levels outside have dropped to optimal trekking temperatures," Gabriel noted. "We move."
They exited through the waterfall, the roar of the water masking their departure. Gabriel led the way, his feet making zero impact on the forest floor, his electric blue eyes scanning the treeline for any lingering variables. They hadn't gone fifty yards when a violent CRACK echoed through the glade.
An ancient silver oak, its roots already compromised by the rocky soil, buckled under its own massive weight. But it wasn't the tree that drew Gabriel's attention—it was the man running toward it.
An older man in white robes staggered into the clearing. The robes had clearly seen better days; the once-pure white fabric was now a chaotic map of bloodstains, grass smears, and jagged tears. He looked like a man who had been hunted through the deepest brambles of the forest.
"Disruption detected," Gabriel said, his voice flat.
Behind the old man, a pack of ten unruly goblins burst from the brush, hooting and snapping their rusted cleavers. They weren't a coordinated scout unit like the ones in the cave; these were scavengers, fueled by bloodlust.
The old man didn't see the tree falling. He tripped over a protruding root just as the massive silver oak came down. He rolled, narrowly avoiding a lethal blow, but the heavy secondary branches pinned him to the earth, trapping his legs and chest.
"Help!" the man wheezed, his voice cracking with terror as the goblin pack slowed, sensing an easy kill.
Gabriel didn't wait for Genevieve to respond. He blurred forward, his bare, star-flecked chest catching the dappled sunlight. He reached the fallen oak just as the lead goblin lunged with a jagged spear. Gabriel didn't even look at the creature; he caught the spear shaft mid-air, snapped it with a casual flick of his wrist, and drove the jagged remains into the goblin's throat.
He stepped to the trunk of the silver oak.
"Genevieve, neutralize the perimeter," Gabriel commanded. "I am going to address the structural obstruction."
Gabriel settled into a deep power-lifter's stance, his leather-clad boots digging into the loam. He gripped the rough, ancient bark, and the Midnight Scales on his arms began to pulse. The "stars" within the matte black hide glowed with a fierce, white intensity as he engaged his Rank 1 Strength.
With a guttural, resonant grunt, Gabriel heaved. The massive trunk, weighing well over a ton, groaned and began to rise.
"Move, old man," Gabriel commanded through gritted teeth, the muscles in his back rippling like corded steel.
The cleric, his eyes wide with a mixture of religious awe and sheer panic, scrambled out from under the timber. Gabriel held the weight for a second longer—testing the limit of his frame—before dropping the tree with a ground-shaking thud.
The remaining goblins froze, looking from their dead leader to the shirtless, scaled giant who had just lifted a mountain of wood. They turned and vanished into the brush without a sound.
Gabriel stood up, wiping a smear of moss from his Carmel-toned forearm. He looked down at the man in the ruined white robes.
"You're… you're a miracle," the old man stammered, clutching a shattered holy symbol. "Or a nightmare."
Gabriel wiped a stray droplet of water from his sharp jawline and offered that same devilish, knowing grin he'd given Genevieve.
"I'm neither," Gabriel said. "I'm just the man who's going to need a map of this forest and a very good reason why ten goblins were chasing a priest through a dead-fall zone. My father always said, if you're good at something, never do it for free—and I just saved your life, Let's Talk."