The Guardian stood unmoving, clad in armor the color of sunrise metal. His eyes, visible through the helm's narrow slit, burned like twin torches aimed straight into every heart.
The long sword in his grasp quivered, frost-bright edges glinting, a silent warning that even the faintest misstep would draw blood.
Sweat pearled along Enaricus' hairline.
The Guardians truly exist, and we have roused one of them...
He risked a glance at Percival and Esorin. Both wore the same hard mask he did, grim, cornered, unsure which move might unleash ruin.
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