Leaving the Ashen Mire behind was like shrugging off a heavy, wet cloak. The air grew clean, and the sky, vast and open, was a welcome sight. Ren moved with a speed and purpose that would have been unthinkable to the boy who had first stumbled into the Whispering Glade. He was no longer just a traveler; he was an agent on a mission, and the knowledge of the Master's awareness was a constant spur at his back.
He followed the foothills of the great Stone-Fang Mountains, a journey through a rugged, windswept land of hardy grasses, resilient shrubs, and ancient, weathered stone. He used the skills his allies had taught him. He listened to the land as Olthann had shown him, feeling the health of the earth beneath his feet, allowing him to choose paths that were safe and full of life. When he rested, he would hold the Mire-stone Kasai had given him. Its gentle, living warmth would seep into him, soothing the ever-present cold of his scar and, he noticed, making his presence seem to fade into the background. Small animals no longer startled as he passed, and he was able to move through the wilderness like a whisper on the wind.
After several days of relentless travel, he found it: a river flowing down from a deep cleft in the mountains to the east, its water stained a deep, unsettling rust-red. This was the river of iron, the path to Kaelara's domain.
As he began to follow it upstream, the sense of vitality he had felt in the foothills began to fade. The hardy grasses grew thin and patchy. The rocks along the riverbank were not just stained red, but had a strange, brittle quality, flaking away into a fine, grey dust at a touch. A subtle wrongness hung in the air, a feeling not of rot, but of a dry, sterile sickness.
He was a day's journey up the red river when he saw them—a small caravan of three covered wagons, pulled by hardy, long-haired goats, heading west, away from the mountains. The mountain folk driving them were grim-faced and weathered, their eyes scanning the landscape with constant unease.
Ren approached them cautiously, keeping his hands in plain sight. "Good day," he called out. "I mean you no harm."
The lead driver, a stern-looking woman with braided grey hair, brought her wagon to a halt. "Few travel east into the Peaks these days, boy," she said, her voice rough as gravel. "And none with good sense. Turn back."
"I have business with the mountains," Ren replied simply. "What is it you're fleeing from?"
A man from the second wagon spat on the ground. "The Stone-sickness. A dry rot that eats the rock. Pastures are turning to dust, and good stone crumbles in your hand. The game has fled. There's nothing left for us there."
"And the wind has turned foul," the woman added, her eyes looking back towards the jagged peaks with a mixture of fear and reverence. "Kaelara, the Great Eagle, has not been seen hunting in weeks. The skies where she once soared are now filled with unnatural storms and a wind that whispers of madness. The Peaks are angry. Or worse, they're dying."
They would say no more. With a final, pitying look at the strange boy traveling toward the doom they were escaping, the caravan moved on, their wagons creaking as they continued their journey west.
Ren was left alone on the banks of the red river, the travelers' grim words echoing in his mind. A sickness in the stones. The wind whispers of madness. It was exactly as Olthann had warned. The Hollow were already here, and their method of corruption was different, tailored to this harsh, stony land and its sky-bound Guardian.
That night, he made a small, cold camp. He stared at the distant, jagged silhouette of the Iron Peaks, their sharp teeth tearing at the star-filled sky. He was not just coming to deliver a warning. From the sound of it, he was already too late for that. The sickness was already taking hold, and the Guardian was already missing.
He clutched the warm Mire-stone in his hand, its gentle life-energy a stark contrast to the cold dread that was settling in his gut. His mission had changed. He was not coming to the Iron Peaks to prevent a disaster. He was coming to walk into the middle of one.