Chapter 24: The Burden of Knowledge
The familiar sounds of Vance Haven,the crackle of the fire, the murmur of voices, the rhythmic shaping of wood now felt fragile to Alistair, like a pleasant dream from which he had been violently awakened. He carried the dissonant hum of the corrupted crags within him, a constant, low-level anxiety that soured every moment of peace.
He stood on the foundation stone, his eyes closed, his awareness tracing the ley-lines again and again. He was mapping the infection. It was a slow, grueling process, like trying to trace the roots of a weed in complete darkness. The corruption was a tangled knot of chaotic energy, resistant to his probing. He could feel its edges, its slow, patient seep into the healthy rock around it. He estimated they had months, perhaps a year, before it reached the territory that sustained his settlement.
The knowledge was a crushing weight. What was the point of outmaneuvering Grok if the very ground beneath their feet was dying?
Thora found him there as the larger sun began to set, his face drawn and pale. "You cannot hold the weight of the world on your shoulders alone," she said, her voice softer than usual.
"It is my responsibility," he replied, not opening his eyes. "The Core is linked to me,I can feel it. That makes it my burden."
"And you are linked to us," she countered. "That makes it ours."
Her simple logic broke through his spiraling thoughts. He opened his eyes and looked at her, then at the settlement. His people. They were not just subjects or followers; they were part of the same system he was trying to protect. He had been thinking like a lone administrator, a problem-solver working in isolation. But he was the heart of a community.
And for the community to grow he needed to share the burden. Not the terrifying, existential details, but the practical consequences. He needed their help.
He called a gathering at the central fire. The entire tribe of Vance Haven assembled, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames. The five freed prisoners, Elara and the others, stood with the rest, their bodies still thin but their eyes now clear and present.
"People of Vance Haven," Alistair began, his voice carrying the authority of the stone beneath him. "We have built a home here. We have found safety and strength. We have made allies, however difficult."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep over them. "But a new challenge has emerged. One that does not come with a roar or a raised spear. It is a silence. A sickness in the northern earth."
A worried murmur rippled through the crowd.
"I have seen it," he continued. "It is a place where the world is wrong. It breeds creatures of shadow and crystal that cannot be fought with our weapons. And this wrongness... it spreads."
The murmuring stopped. The air went still.
"I do not know how to cure it," he admitted, the confession costing him. "But I know we cannot ignore it. Our future, the future of this land, depends on understanding this sickness. And for that, I do not have all the answers. I need yours."
He looked at Kael and the other wood-shapers. "Your connection to growing things is a kind of magic and I need you to listen to the plants at the edge of the crags. See how they sicken. See if any resist."
He turned to Thora and the hunters. "Your knowledge of the land is deeper than any scan. I need you to watch for changes in the behavior of animals, for signs that the sickness is moving."
Finally, he looked at Elara and the freed prisoners. "And you. You have endured in a place of hardship. You have seen the Graxians' ways, their strengths and their fears. Your perspective is a weapon they do not have, I need your counsel."
He was no longer a distant god king issuing decrees. He was a leader, mobilizing his people. The fear in their eyes began to be tempered by a sense of purpose. They were being asked to contribute, to be the eyes and ears of their Steward.
The burden did not feel lighter, but it was now distributed across thirty-two pairs of shoulders. He was not alone in the dark.
The following days saw a shift in the settlement's activities. Hunting parties now carried a dual purpose: to bring back game, and to observe. The wood-shapers made trips to the blighted borderlands, their hands on the bark of trees, feeling for the dissonance Alistair had described. Elara and the others became a permanent part of his council, their insights into Graxian psychology helping him anticipate Grok's next move in their delicate political dance.
Alistair still spent hours each day on the foundation stone, probing the corruption, searching for a weakness. But now, he did so with the reports of his people flowing into him, giving him data, context, and hope.
He had thought the burden of knowledge was his to bear alone. He was wrong. The true strength of a Steward was not in his personal power, but in his ability to unite his people against the coming dark. The sickness in the stone was a terrifying enemy. But for the first time since discovering it, Alistair felt a flicker of possibility. They would face it together.