The rhythm of the vigil had become a part of Ren. The patient waiting, the constant listening to the cold hum of the scar, was a discipline that sharpened his mind and spirit. Days melted one into the next in the grotto's perpetual twilight, marked only by his conversations with Kasai and the slow, steady healing of the Mire outside. He had received another, fainter message from Olthann, confirming his own slow recovery and reiterating the growing unease he felt from the direction of the Iron Peaks. The world was holding its breath, and Ren was at its quiet center.
He was deep in his meditative state, his consciousness a calm pool, when the stone dropped.
It was not a sound or a feeling he had ever experienced before. A spike of pure, absolute cold, sharp as a needle of ice, lanced through the grotto's peaceful aura. It was a violation, a predatory presence that made the air itself seem to curdle. Ren's scar, which had been a dull, contained ache, erupted in a blaze of frigid agony, so intense it almost threw him from his meditative state.
Shiro hissed, rearing up on Ren's chest, his small body rigid with alarm. Across the pool, Kasai's ancient eyes snapped open, a low, warning rumble vibrating through the water.
This was it.
"He reaches for his lost piece," Kasai's thought was a sharp, urgent command. "Hold fast to your anchors, Little Serpent! Observe, but do not engage!"
Ren clung to the warmth of Shiro and the immense, protective presence of Kasai as he focused his entire being on the signal. He dove into the cold frequency of the blight, not as a visitor this time, but as an unseen spy. He felt the connection form—a tight, dark beam of energy linking the void in his own world to the sleeping mind of the Acolyte Theron.
And then he heard the Master's voice. It was not a voice of words, but of pure, unadulterated will, a command that expected nothing less than absolute obedience.
"Acolyte Theron. Report."
The command slammed into Theron's dormant mind, and Ren felt the psychic reverberations. There was no answer. The Acolyte remained lost in his stupor. A wave of cold, immense frustration pulsed down the connection from the Master.
"Respond!"
The second command was a psychic battering ram. The Master was trying to force his way into his servant's mind. As he did, the connection flared, and for a terrifying moment, Ren's perspective was ripped from the grotto. He was back in the throne room of black rock. The vision was clearer this time. He saw the great, terrible map on the wall, and the glowing, angry symbol over the Iron Peaks. He saw other robed figures standing at attention. And he saw the throne. He couldn't see the Master's face, which was lost in a cowl of absolute shadow, but he saw a hand resting on the arm of the throne—a hand encased in jagged black metal, its fingers long and thin, tapping with cold impatience.
Then, the Master felt something. A resistance. An echo on the line that was not his servant. Ren felt a horrifying sensation of being seen, as if a single, vast, cold eye had turned to stare directly at him through the impossible distance.
"An echo…" the Master's will pulsed with sudden, sharp suspicion. "Life-scent… The line is fouled."
The Master's intelligence was as swift as it was terrifying. Realizing his connection was compromised, he acted instantly. He didn't just disconnect. He attacked.
Ren felt the Master's will gather for a final, violent pulse. But Kasai was ready. The Great Turtle's own immense power rose like a shield, not around Ren, but around the entire grotto. "Brace yourself!"
The Master simultaneously severed the connection and sent a parting gift—a focused, needle-thin barb of pure blight magic—lancing down the line. It was a curse, a tracker, a final act of spite.
The psychic backlash was immense. The connection shattered, and Ren was violently thrown back into his own senses, a scream tearing from his throat as his scar felt like it was being ripped open from the inside. At the same time, Kasai's emerald shield flared, intercepting the Master's curse just before it could touch the grotto, shattering the dark magic into harmless, fading wisps.
In his warded alcove, Acolyte Theron convulsed violently, a single, agonized cry escaping his lips before he fell back into a deeper state of unconsciousness.
Ren lay on the mossy ground, trembling and gasping, his entire body drenched in a cold sweat. Kasai's calming presence slowly washed over him, soothing the worst of the psychic pain.
The vigil was over. It had succeeded more than he could have ever hoped. He had seen the enemy's sanctum, felt his power, and confirmed his focus on the Iron Peaks. But the victory came at a terrible cost.
The Master of the Hollow now knew, with absolute certainty, that his operative in the Ashen Mire had not just failed. He had been captured. And he knew that someone with the power to resist him, someone with the scent of life, was listening.
The element of surprise was gone. The game had changed. And Ren knew, with a chilling certainty, that he had to get to the Iron Peaks now, before that great, cold, intelligent eye turned its full, undivided attention to finding him.