The silence that followed the placing of the final stone on the cairn was heavy, filled with the urgency that surged back with brutal clarity. A distant howl—hoarse, ravenous—tore through the morning air, a harsh reminder that the territory was no longer guarded.
Maggie tensed, her face pale from blood loss drawn taut again. Élisa turned her head toward the sound, her golden eyes becoming cold blades.
"We don't have a minute to lose," said Élisa, her voice regaining its usual firmness, though weighed with exhaustion. "Choose. Quickly."
Before them stretched the weapon field—a forest of metal and wood thrust skyward beneath the pale sky. Hundreds of weapons, each marked with an insignia engraved or painted on the hilt, the blade, or the haft—emblems of roaring lions, howling wolves, stylized trees, intricate runes.
