They reluctantly left the relative safety of the shallow cave on the fourth morning, three days stretched beyond the promised two. The extra rest had helped dull the sharpest edges of Seren's pain, but the deeper ache in her leg remained, a constant, throbbing reminder of the fall. The cold bit harder than ever, seeming to resent their continued presence in its domain.
The journey south-west became a relentless slog against the elements and the unforgiving terrain. The land didn't soften as they moved away from the deep mountains; instead, it grew more broken, a chaotic expanse of sharp, wind-scoured peaks, deep, shadow-filled ravines, and vast fields of treacherous scree hidden beneath shallow snow. The silence was still unnerving, the only sounds the whine of the wind, the crunch of their boots, and their own labored breathing.
Seren tried her best. She set her jaw, focusing fiercely on her Farseer navigation, picking the safest (or least dangerous) paths through the wilderness. But her leg was a traitor. The initial slight limp became a pronounced stumble, her pace inevitably slowing their progress to a crawl. Each step was a visible effort, her face drawn tight with pain beneath the layers of grime and cold-burn.
Flareon watched her. His initial sharp exhale of impatience would still escape him now and then, a flicker of his old frustration, but it was quickly stifled. He saw the sweat beading on her brow despite the cold, saw the way her shoulders slumped, saw the carefully masked wince each time her weight shifted. Something within him, thawed by the shared grief for Tora and the unexpected vulnerability in the cave, shifted further.
One afternoon, as the pale sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the snow in hues of cold blue and orange, Seren stumbled, cried out, and sank to her knees in a drift, unable to put weight on her injured leg. She covered her face with her hands, a small, choked sob escaping her lips.
Flareon stopped a few paces ahead. He turned back, his expression unreadable. He didn't say anything. He simply walked back to her, knelt, and without a word, stooped slightly.
"Get on."
He said, his voice low and rough.
Seren looked up, startled, tears tracking paths through the dirt on her cheeks.
"Flareon, I..."
"Now."
He interrupted, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument.
Hesitantly, stiffly, Seren climbed onto his back. Her torn cloak scraped against his tattered tunic. She was light, too light, a stark reminder of their starvation, but carrying her felt heavy, a physical burden matched by the weight of unspoken emotion. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him, trying not to shift too much.
He rose slowly, adjusting his grip, settling her weight as best he could. He took a deep breath, the cold air burning his lungs, and began to move again, walking now for both of them.
The rest of the journey to the edge of the Frostfang Domain was a different kind of arduous. Flareon walked tirelessly, his muscles screaming, his breath pluming in the frigid air. Seren rode silently, her head resting against his shoulder at times, guilt and gratitude warring within her. She still navigated, whispering directions, pointing the way, her Farseer mind refusing to surrender even when her body had. They spoke only when necessary, brief checks on Flareon's endurance ("Are you alright?" "Just keep pointing."), whispered observations about the terrain.
He rarely complained, though she felt the shuddering effort in his steps on steeper inclines, the way his breathing grew ragged. His silence was a different kind of strain than his earlier impatience, a grim, enduring strength she hadn't expected.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the terrain began to change. The chaotic, jagged peaks of the deep Frostfang softened slightly, coalescing into a vast, broken wall of rock that stretched across the horizon, the Broken Peaks. Darker, steeper, and more sheer than the mountains they had traversed, they formed a natural, almost impenetrable barrier. To the south, through cuts and passes in the range, the sky looked marginally lighter, less perpetually grey.
They reached a narrow pass, choked with snow and scree, that seemed to carve a path through the impossible barrier. Standing at its entrance, they could feel the wind howling through the gap, a mournful, desolate sound. But it was also a boundary.
They had crossed the Frostfang Domain.
Flareon lowered Seren carefully to the ground just inside the pass. His legs trembled, his shoulders screamed with protest, but he remained standing, leaning heavily on his spear. Seren sank back against the cold rock face, breathing hard, her injured leg aching fiercely but no longer the sole focus of her pain.
They had survived. They had endured the cold, the hunger, the fear, the loss. They had carried each other, literally and figuratively, across the heart of enemy territory. They stood on the edge of something new, something unknown, exhausted, battered, but together.
...
They stood in the relative shelter of the narrow pass, the wind howling through the gap like a hungry beast, carrying the chill of the Frostfang they had just escaped. Before them, the landscape began a slow descent, still rugged and snow-dusted, but noticeably less brutal than the peaks behind them. In the distance, nestled precariously on a windswept ridge overlooking the path ahead, stood the skeletal remains of a structure.
It was a tower, or what was left of one. Built from dark, blocky stone, its upper levels had long collapsed, leaving jagged walls reaching towards the grey sky like broken teeth. Snow clung stubbornly to its crevices, and the wind whistled through empty window sockets.
Flareon squinted, leaning on his spear, a flicker of something other than exhaustion momentarily animating his features.
"Look."
He gestured with his chin towards the ruin.
"An old watchtower... maybe older. Like in those ridiculous adventure serials the Versari publish. Abandoned for centuries, guarding some forgotten secret... or maybe..."
A faint, almost boyish hint of excitement entered his voice, chasing away some of the grim weariness.
"...a relic? A weapon left by heroes of old? You know, hidden away until needed?"
Seren, who had been carefully stretching her injured leg, followed his gaze. Her Farseer eyes analyzed the structure with practiced efficiency, noting the construction style, the erosion patterns, the strategic placement. She sighed softly, the sound barely audible over the wind.
"That?"
She shook her head, pulling her worn cloak tighter.
"That's Versari construction, late Uprising period. Likely abandoned around 1550 PS when the border stabilised further north for a time. Standard border watchtower design, model gamma-seven, I believe. Stone quarried locally."
She looked back at Flareon, her expression devoid of any romantic notions.
"Farseer archaeological teams surveyed most of these border ruins decades ago during the post-Uprising mapping initiative. Cataloged every loose stone, analyzed residual energy signatures, cross-referenced architectural variances with migratory patterns. There are no 'forgotten secrets' or 'ancient relics' hidden in gamma-seven watchtowers, Flareon. Just crumbling mortar, wind erosion, and probably rodent nests."
She gestured vaguely back towards the forbidding peaks behind them.
"If you want mystery, think about the colossal, violet-eyed creature. That's the unknown. Not some glorified pile of rocks built by Versari engineers."
Flareon's brief flicker of fantasy-fueled hope visibly deflated. He scowled slightly, muttering under his breath.
"Fine. Spoil all the fun, scholar."
He straightened up, his expression shifting back to pragmatism.
"Still. It looks solid enough. Better shelter than another drafty cave, wouldn't you say?"
Seren nodded slowly, conceding the practical point.
"Potentially. If the lower levels are intact and defensible. It's worth investigating for shelter, at least."
The promise wasn't of legendary swords, but of a slightly less miserable night. In their current reality, that was treasure enough.
...
The meager shelter of the ruined watchtower offered little more than a respite from the biting wind, but even that felt like a luxury. They left the crumbling stones behind the next morning, the grey sky pressing down, heavy with unspoken threats.
By late afternoon, they reached the banks of a wide, fast-flowing river. Its waters were a dark, churning grey, carrying chunks of ice downstream from the mountains they had left behind. The air near the water felt marginally less cold, but damp, clinging.
"The Vigor."
Seren stated, her voice slightly breathless from the trek, recognizing the landmark instantly from maps studied long ago in Spectrahold's archives. She stopped near the bank, pushing stray hairs from her face, her Farseer eyes automatically scanning the horizon downstream, towards the south-west.
This river marked the traditional northern edge of Starbreach Confederacy influence, though the actual border settlements were still some distance away. From here, on a clear day, or even a moderately overcast one like this, the Confederacy's pride should have been visible.
"From this bend..."
Seren murmured, mostly to herself, calculating angles and distances ingrained from her studies.
"...we should be able to see it. Just the tip, piercing the clouds."
Flareon came up beside her, leaning on his spear, following her gaze. He squinted, his Sorcerai eyes sharp, though lacking the Farseer's range and spectrum sensitivity.
"See what? More rocks?"
He asked, a hint of weariness in his tone.
"The Stellar Beacon."
Seren replied, still scanning, a frown beginning to crease her brow.
"The central spire of Starbreach City. Tallest structure on this side of the continent, laced with enough Aetherium to outshine a minor star."
Her voice trailed off. The horizon remained stubbornly empty, a jagged line of distant hills and low-hanging grey clouds. Nothing pierced that line. No tower, no spire, no distant, tell-tale Aetherium glow.
She scanned again, systematically sweeping her gaze back and forth, widening her visual spectrum slightly, searching for any faint energy signature, any tell-tale atmospheric distortion. Nothing. The space where the beacon should have stood was just... empty sky.
A sudden, sharp chill, colder than the riverside wind, ran down Seren's spine. It wasn't logical, not yet. Perhaps the clouds were lower than she thought. Perhaps atmospheric conditions were interfering. But her instincts, honed by Farseer training and amplified by the horrors they had already witnessed, screamed that something was fundamentally wrong. The silence of the Frostfang had been unsettling; this absence felt profoundly ominous.
"I don't see anything."
Flareon stated initially, lowering his gaze from the horizon back to the churning river. He started to say something about the weather, but then Seren's quiet, insistent words, filled with rising dread, caught his attention.
"No..."
She whispered, almost inaudibly.
"It should be there. It's... always there."
Flareon caught the tremor in her voice, the sudden tension in her posture. He looked back towards the horizon, his own gaze sharpening, trying to pierce the grey distance. He remembered his own journey to Starbreach months ago. Even from further out, travelling westward from the Citadel's territory, the Beacon had been an unmistakable pinprick of intense light, a defiant needle against the sky, growing steadily as the Landliner approached.
He scanned the empty skyline again, a frown creasing his own brow now. She was right. Even with the overcast sky, something should be visible. A glimmer. A hint of the structure. But there was nothing. Just bleak hills and grey clouds.
"Seren?"
He asked, his voice losing its earlier weariness, replaced by a dawning unease that mirrored hers.
She finally tore her gaze away from the empty horizon, meeting his eyes. The academic curiosity was gone, replaced by a dawning fear that mirrored the terror she'd felt when contemplating her family's fate.
"It's gone, Flareon."
Her voice was barely a breath against the wind.
"The Stellar Beacon... it's not there."
Flareon stared back at her, then towards the empty horizon again. The casual dismissal died on his lips. He had seen it. It should be there. Its absence wasn't just strange; it felt like a violation of the natural order, a gaping hole where a monument to civilization should stand. The same cold dread that had gripped Seren now settled heavily in his own stomach.
They stood together on the bank of the Vigor River, staring towards a horizon that held only emptiness, the implication of catastrophe hanging heavy and unspoken between them in the cold, damp air. Starbreach, their destination, their hope, might not be the sanctuary they envisioned. It might be something far, far worse.