The mountain shrank behind them. Its peak still smoked, but the tremors had stopped.
They followed a narrow path cutting through dead trees. The air was sharp, carrying the smell of ash.
No one spoke.
Then Elira stopped. Her eyes narrowed. "We're not alone."
A figure stood ahead on the trail. Cloaked in gray, hood low, leaning on a staff.
Vael's hand brushed the ring. Its warmth flickered.
The figure didn't move. Didn't speak. Just waited.
Reylen stepped forward, blade half-drawn. "Who are you?"
The stranger lifted their head. Eyes pale, almost silver, caught the dim light. Their voice was soft but carried far.
"You woke the Forge," they said. "Now the world will stir."
Nyra's lips curved faintly. "Sounds like a threat."
"Not a threat," the stranger replied. "A truth."
Vael studied them. Their presence was strange—calm, but heavy, like the weight of old stone.
"What do you want?" he asked.
The stranger tapped the staff once against the ground.
"To see if you're strong enough to survive what comes next."
The ring pulsed hard, as if it knew the words.
Vael's jaw tightened. "And if I'm not?"
The stranger smiled faintly.
"Then the world will devour you before I ever need to try."