Up close, the glyphs writhed—tiny iron spiders crawling over stone.
Her instincts recoiled; the script felt wrong, as if it named every forest spirit bound within.
She set her left palm against the stone and pressed Leaf-Steel's flat to the runes.
Jade light poured from the sword, a river of living emerald meeting charred sigils.
Stone hissed.
Heat surged, but she held the contact, channeling years of ritual practice—give the blade, take the taint.
A hairline fissure snaked up the pillar.
Then another, branching like lightning through marble.
Crack.
The obelisk split with a muted bang, shards tumbling into the grass.
A wisp of black smoke spiraled skyward, trailing a dying wail so thin only spirit-senses caught it.
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