In the silent, luminous grotto, Ren stood before the Eldest Serpent, the vision of the tormented bear seared into his mind. The awe he felt for the ancient creature was now mingled with a fierce, burning urgency. There was no choice to be made.
"I will go," he said, his voice ringing with a conviction that was entirely his own.
The Great Serpent dipped its colossal head in a slow, solemn nod. "The path will be perilous. The poison within you will sing to the poison in the Weald. The Hollow will feel its resonance as you draw near. It will be a lure to them, and a constant vulnerability for you. Guard your mind as fiercely as you guard your life."
With that final warning, a gentle current from the pool seemed to guide Ren back towards the waterfall. He gave one last look of gratitude to the ancient being, then passed through the watery veil and back into the main valley of the Sanctuary.
His departure was markedly different from his arrival. The Grove-Hart awaited him, and as it led him back towards the entrance, the beasts of the Sanctuary did not just watch with wary eyes. A path cleared for them. The Crystal-horned Stags dipped their heads in respect. The Granite-Claw Bear, the one who had voiced its distrust, met his gaze and gave a low, rumbling grunt—a grudging but clear acknowledgment. They were no longer seeing a human intruder; they were seeing their champion, a small, fragile hope sent out into a world they had long abandoned.
At the summit, by the glowing, ethereal staircase, the Griffin stood waiting. Its golden eyes were as sharp as ever, but the challenge in them was gone, replaced by a stern sense of purpose.
"The sky will watch your journey, Guardian," its voice boomed in his mind. "Do not fail the trust the Eldest has placed in you."
"I will not," Ren vowed.
He gave the guardian a final, respectful bow and descended the magical stairs. As his feet touched the solid stone of the mountain path, the shimmering staircase behind him faded into nothing, the sheer cliff face once again becoming blank and impassable. The Sanctuary was sealed once more. He was back in the world.
The journey west was a stark contrast to his arduous climb into the mountains. With his training complete, he moved with a newfound speed and efficiency. He descended the treacherous slopes with a confidence born of a deeper connection to the earth and water. He and Shiro worked in seamless unity, a single being in two bodies, navigating, hunting, and making camp with an economy of motion that wasted no energy.
But there was no joy in this new competence. His mission was a heavy weight on his shoulders. He pushed himself relentlessly, often traveling long after dusk, stopping only for a few hours of restless sleep. The vision of the great bear, Olthann, haunted him. Sometimes he would jolt awake from a dream where he could hear its roars of agony, and he would set off again in the pre-dawn chill, driven by a desperate need for haste.
His most unsettling companion was the scar. As the Eldest had warned, as he moved west, the dormant chill within it began to awaken. It became a faint but constant thrum against his skin, a cold, needle-like pull in the direction of the Redwood Weald. It was a compass pointing towards his enemy, a guide he both relied on and loathed.
After nearly a week of relentless travel, the landscape began to change once more. The rocky terrain of the mountain foothills softened into rolling, forested land. But as he drew closer to his destination, the trees grew unnaturally large, their trunks thick as small houses, their tops lost in the clouds. He had reached the edge of the Redwood Weald.
He stopped at the border. Before him stood the ancient forest, a wall of colossal, living titans. But a palpable line existed, as clear as if it had been drawn in the dirt. To his right, the forest was healthy, filled with the sounds of life. To his left, the great trees were skeletal and grey, their bark peeling, the air between them thick with a deathly silence. The stench of decay, the same foul smell from the gorge, drifted on the wind.
The scar on his leg, which had been a dull thrum, now flared with a sharp, insistent, icy pain. It was resonating with the immense blight ahead, a beacon of darkness calling to the small piece of itself that he carried.
He stood at the threshold of the dying forest, a Guardian facing a tide of corruption. He took a deep breath, the blighted air feeling like grit in his lungs. Shiro coiled tightly on his arm, a small, warm point of pure life in a world of decay. Steeling himself for the battle to come, Ren took his first step across the invisible line, and into the shadow of the Redwood Weald.