Rae leads the small group into a sheltered grove by the wall, where wind barely stirs the pine needles. The temple glow is dim behind them now, and the black stains in the stone of the blade look less angry in the soft light.
Waylan can take a breath at last. Hrolf stands with both hands locked around the wrapped obsidian blade, trembling hard with fatigue, while Danica watches the bundle as if it might still bite.
Rae Olson Daughter
Sit a moment. Drink. Let the wards settle before the road takes more from us.
Hrolf
I am still here. My name holds. The blade does not get to speak for me.
Danica Pure Spring
The binding is steady now. Not gone, just contained. That is enough for this hour.
Rae kneels by a root and checks the damp wrappings around the blade, careful and calm. The grove feels almost like a blessing itself, a small pocket of green between town walls and deepening road.
“I ask Rae what the wards still need”
SUCCESS (Good Reasoning, rolled -1)
Waylan Grey
What does the ward need now, Rae?
Rae Olson Daughter
Just patience, dry cloth, and eyes on the seams. If the wrappings stay damp and the blade stays bound in names, the ward can hold through the road.
Danica Pure Spring
And no one leaves it alone with fear. That is what feeds it, not strength.
Hrolf
Then I keep holding it. My arms can fail later.
Rae slides the cloth tighter around a crack that still smokes faintly, then looks up at Waylan with tired approval. The answer is simple, but the cost is plain, the grove will need water, cloth, and attention if the seal is to stay clean.
Rae Olson Daughter
You asked the right question. That matters. Hold to that steadiness on the road, and we may yet bring this to the mountain without losing ourselves.
Hrolf exhales shakily, not quite a laugh, and eases the bundle lower against his chest. For a moment the three of them look less like strangers under a curse, and more like a small, strained company choosing the same path.