The next morning the trio continued with their journey and the he Shattered Peaks loomed like shattered relics of a forgotten age, their jagged spires were swallowed by a sky churning with storm clouds, the air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked stone and lingering decay.
Kelvin led the Tide's Crest along a crumbling ridge, his boots were slipping on slick shale, each step was a stab of pain through his bruised ribs and aching limbs.
His staff was clutched tightly in his trembling hand which pulsed faintly with fire runes and their glow was a dim beacon in the storm's gloom.
The flame-carved pendant around his neck hung heavy, which was a symbol of their hard-fought victories in Shadowfen, Crags, Wastes, Hollow, the Peaks' rift, and the behemoth's defeat.
But the cloaked figure was a silent challenge and the Veil's whispers clung to him, a cold dread that tightened his chest like a vice.
