The shrine convulsed.

A chunk of stone sheared off, crumbling to dust midair. The crack deepened until it split through to the other side. Red light seared through the gap, staining the grass.

Something pushed up from the earth.

A hand.

Not flesh, but something half-made of light and stone. The fingers curled like claws, dragging against the dirt. A low hiss rolled out of the shrine, not quite a voice but enough to make every remaining villager clutch their ears.

Grave’s breath caught.

Rook didn’t flinch. “Contain it.”

“Contain what, exactly?” Grave snapped. “The hand?”

“Yes,” Rook said simply.

Grave cursed under his breath.

Sana slapped a charm to the ground, her bracelets jingling. Symbols flared, circling the shrine in thin white light. The cracks slowed, but the creature inside continued to push.

Ashen struck first.

With a roar that shook the crops, the dragon lunged, claws raking at the red glow from behind the shrine. Sparks and dust flew. The half-born creature shrieked, arm dissolving into fragments of stone.

Grave staggered, pressing a hand to his ear. “Gods, that sound—”

“Less talking,” Sana said. “I’ve almost got it.”

The ground heaved beneath them. Grave stumbled again, teeth clenched, as more rubble tore free.

“Now would be good!” he shouted at her.

“I said I’m working on it!” Sana snapped, paper glowing between her palms.

Another hand clawed out.

This one formed more fully—stone fingers tipped with black nails, veins of red running through them. It scraped deep furrows into the dirt as it dragged itself toward the surface.

Rook moved.

Faster than Grave could follow, faster than armor should allow. His sword swung once, clean and precise. The arm was severed at the elbow, fragments scattering like embers.

For a heartbeat, Grave could only gape at him.

“That’s—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Holy shit.”

Rook ignored him.

Sana slammed another charm into place. Paper burned against her palm, symbols searing red before snapping white. The glow around the shrine tightened like a noose.

The severed stone arm dissolved—the hiss from the crack warped into a wail.

The shrine shuddered once. Twice.

And then collapsed.

The light died in an instant.

Dust billowed. Crops sagged to the ground. The air fell heavy and still, as though the land itself had exhaled.

Silence rang across the field.

Sana sat back on her heels, hair plastered to her face. “There,” she said between breaths. “Easy.”

Grave barked a laugh. It was shaky, but real. “Sure. Easy. I only lost half my hearing.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” she said, flicking him a grin.

“You call this not dramatic?” he said, pointing at the rubble.

Rook lowered his sword without a word. His visor tilted toward the stones. For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Ashen sniffed the ruins, smoke still curling faintly from its mouth. Then the dragon snorted once, like it agreed with Grave.

Something glinted in the rubble.

A shard of metal, half-buried, catching the last rays of dusk.

Rook bent down, gauntlet brushing the dirt aside. He turned the piece over once. A crest gleamed faintly on its surface—a crown entwined with a serpent and roses.

He closed his fist around it before anyone else could see.

“Job’s done,” he said.

Sana hopped over and elbowed Grave. “No thanks to you, new guy.” She flashed him a teasing grin.

Grave couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her with a hint of newfound fondness.

He turned to Rook.  “What even was all that?”

“Old magic,” Rook answered. His tone left no room for more questions.