The Guardians had barely settled back into their base when the first tremors of unrest began to stir. The weight of the previous battle still hung over them like a dark cloud, and the echoes of the Weaver's power reverberated through their minds. Each Guardian bore their own physical and emotional scars, but the victory had brought with it no respite.
Elara stood in the command room, her eyes scanning the maps laid out on the table. The base was buzzing with energy—teams organizing patrols, medics rushing to heal the wounded, and leaders making preparations for what was to come. Yet beneath the bustle, a tense stillness hung in the air, as if the world itself held its breath.
Morgana entered the room, her expression grave. "The cleansing potion worked, but the residual magic is more stubborn than we anticipated. We've managed to contain it, but we need to investigate how deeply the Weavers have corrupted the surrounding land. There may be other rituals underway."