The Griffin's telepathic voice was not a sound, but a pressure, a weight of ages that settled directly into Ren's mind. Before this majestic being, all thoughts of his own power seemed laughably small. Fear urged him to shrink back, but the memory of his trials—of standing firm against illusion and despair—held him steady. He was a Guardian. He had to act like one.
He took a slow, deliberate breath, meeting the creature's piercing golden eyes. He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect, not submission. "I am Ren," he said, his own voice sounding thin in the vast, windy silence of the mountain. "I was sent by the spirits of the Whispering Glade. They named me Guardian."
The Griffin tilted its massive, feathered head, its gaze unwavering. "Guardian," the voice echoed in his mind, laced with an ancient skepticism. "A noble title. Yet you reek of the world of men—of doubt and sorrow. And you carry something more. A shadow. A taint."
The Griffin's golden eyes narrowed, seeming to look right through Ren's clothing, through his very flesh, to the corrupted scar on his calf. "You carry the stench of the Shade-blight within your own veins. You would seek entry to this pure place, wearing the brand of our most hated enemy? Explain this hypocrisy, or be cast from this mountain."
The accusation was sharp and direct, leaving no room for evasion. Ren knew this was the true test. Honesty was his only weapon.
"The mark is not one of choice," Ren said, his voice gaining strength as he spoke his truth. "I journeyed through the Weeping Gorge, where men in grey robes nurture the blight. I saw them feeding a great crystal of corruption, spreading the poison. I could not stand by. I used the river's magic to shatter their ritual."
As he spoke, Shiro slithered out from his tunic, coiling around his arm. The small snake faced the colossal Griffin not with aggression, but with a calm, resolute stillness, a silent testament to their shared experience.
"I was discovered," Ren continued. "In my escape, one of their blighted thorns struck me. I fought the poison with the magic gifted to me by the glade. I could not purge it completely, but I have contained it. This scar," he admitted, his gaze unflinching, "is the proof of my fight against them, not my allegiance to them."
The Griffin remained silent for a long moment, its golden eyes studying the unwavering boy and the small, pure serpent on his arm. A flicker of something—perhaps surprise, perhaps respect—passed through its ancient mind.
"Words can be woven into cloaks of deceit," the Griffin's voice finally returned, softer but no less powerful. "Your title is from spirits we know. Your story is bold. But your heart… your intent… these are what grant passage here. I must see the truth for myself. Do not resist."
Before Ren could react, the mental pressure intensified tenfold. It was not an attack, but an immense, irresistible presence pressing in on him. It felt as if the entire weight of the mountain was settling on his soul, sifting through his memories with an unnerving precision. He felt the Griffin perceive his life in the village, his fear at the festival, the wonder and pain of his trials in the glade. He felt it witness his desperate fight against the water serpent, his sorrowful dismissal of his mother's illusion, his terror in the face of the corrupted Shiro, and his quiet, defiant choice to hold onto hope. It saw his flight through the gorge, his battle with the poison, and the cold resolve that had settled in his heart.
He did not fight the intrusion. He stood his ground and let the guardian see everything—his fear, his weakness, his anger, and the fierce, burning core of his determination to protect.
After what felt like an eternity, the pressure receded. Ren swayed on his feet, breathless, as if he had run for miles.
The Griffin blinked its great golden eyes, a slow, deliberate motion. The intimidating aura it projected lessened, replaced by a grudging acceptance.
"You have been tested by powers both light and dark in a short time, human," the voice stated. "You carry a great burden. The shadow in your flesh will be a constant trial, a weakness your enemies will seek to exploit." The Griffin paused. "And yet, you did not hide it. Your heart, though wounded, rings true. The Covenant is nearly forgotten in your world, but it lives in you. You may pass, Guardian."
With a rustle of granite-coloured feathers, the majestic creature took a step to the side, clearing the way to the glowing staircase.
"Do not expect a warm welcome," the Griffin added as a final warning. "The beasts of the First Scale have long memories and little love for humankind. You have been granted entry, but their trust is a mountain far steeper than this one. Prove your worth to them with your deeds."
Humbled and profoundly relieved, Ren gave the great guardian a deep, respectful bow. He turned, and with Shiro coiled securely on his arm, he placed his foot upon the first shimmering, weightless step of the magical path and began his ascent into the hidden heart of the Sanctuary.