They camped by a stream. Mira dozed by the fire, but Aric sat awake, watching sparks rise into the night.
"You owe me answers," Aric said quietly.
Edran's gaze was steady. "The Fang is a relic of the First War. When kings were crowned in fire and blood, they bound their enemies beneath stone. That prison has cracked. The goblins you saw were not raiders; they were drawn by the scent of freedom leaking from it."
Aric clenched his fists. "And what has that to do with me?"
"The storm chose you," Edran replied. "You heard its song. That means you are bound to the Shattered Crown, the weapon forged to end the First War. Whether you like it or not, boy, you carry a piece of its power."
Aric stared at the old man, throat tight. "You're saying I'm cursed."
"I'm saying," Edran murmured, "that your life is no longer your own."