The village grew quieter as they approached the center, the hum of daily life softening into something almost reverent. The stone monument stood waiting—tall, weathered, veined with faintly glowing lines that pulsed like the last breath of a dying ember.
"The Flame-Stone," Corvin murmured beside Zelene. "Carved by the hands of the Aureate Auryn themselves, when the world was younger than memory."
Zelene reached out, hesitating just before her fingers touched the surface.
It was warm—warmer than the sun should have made it.
As if the stone remembered hands shaped like hers.
Ray and Finn hung back, giving her space.
Saela stepped forward, leaning lightly on her cane.
"You seek the Auryns," she said, reading the question Zelene hadn't spoken yet. "All of them."
Zelene lowered her hand. "Yes. I came for answers. I need them. But I don't even know where to start."
Saela's gaze softened, yet her voice carried the weight of ages.
"Auryns do not live as ordinary beings do. They are not landmarks to be found—they are currents in the world. Moving. Changing. Hiding. Resting. Waiting."
Zelene swallowed, frustration and hope tangling in her chest.
"But where can I find them?"
"Child," the Elder murmured, "I can only give you fragments. Shadows of what once was. The world is wide, and the Auryns are older than any map."
Zelene exhaled, steadying herself. "Then… give me what you can."
Saela nodded, and her eyes drifted to the glowing stone, as though consulting the memories etched into it.
"The Verdant Auryn…" she began slowly, "was the gentlest of the four. A healer. A nurturer. Loyal beyond measure to the Crimson."
Corvin's posture straightened, respectful.
Zelene listened as if her life depended on it.
"After the fall of the Crimson Auryn," Saela continued, "the Verdant stayed beside the king's bed for a full year. Grief rooted him in place… until it broke him."
Her voice dimmed.
"And then he vanished. No tracks. No farewell. Only silence. The forests have not spoken his name since."
Zelene's brows furrowed.
"So he could be anywhere."
Saela nodded once.
"Yes. Or nowhere."
It was not comforting.
"And the Cerulean?" Zelene pressed.
Saela's eyes drifted toward the horizon, where the morning fog curled around the distant peaks.
"The Cerulean lives in the heights," she said, tapping her cane lightly on the ground. "In a place where the air thins and words turn to frost. A mountain older than kingdoms. A sanctuary of caves carved by wind and time."
Finn blinked. "So… north? East? Up? Down? I need coordinates, woman."
Saela smiled faintly.
"Follow the spine of the world," she said, "and when the sky begins to whisper cold secrets, you will know you are near."
Finn turned to Ray. "So that's a no. That's absolutely a no."
Ray exhaled. "It's something."
Zelene wet her lips.
"And the last one. The Umbral Auryn."
The Elder's expression shifted—somber, cautious, touched by fear.
"The Umbral is the hardest to find," she whispered. "Or to face."
"Why?"
"Because the Umbral walks in the places where light refuses to tread. He dwells on the far west, beyond the abandoned plains, past the lands where even crows do not circle."
A cold breath of wind slid through the village—low, mournful.
"No map marks the Umbral's home," Saela murmured. "Folktales say he waits in the shadow of the dying sun, where dusk lingers longest."
Zelene swallowed.
"That… doesn't help me find him."
"It is not meant to," Saela said gently. "The Umbral does not wish to be found."
Ray shifted closer to Zelene, instinctively protective.
Corvin watched her instead—not with worry, but with a steady flame of conviction.
"So there's no clear direction," Zelene said softly, frustration curling into her voice. "Just legends. Maybes. Hints."
Saela touched Zelene's arm lightly—the gesture warmer than her earlier formal tone.
"If the Auryns are meant to return to you," she said, "they will. The world has a way of placing the right people in the path of its flame."
Zelene's breath trembled.
"That doesn't feel like an answer."
"It is the only one I have."
For a moment, Zelene turned away, blinking against the sting in her eyes.
She felt Corvin's presence shift behind her—silent, respectful, a living promise.
Finn cleared his throat awkwardly.
Ray touched her shoulder gently.
And Zelene—
Zelene stood before the ancient Flame-Stone, at the crossroads of myth and uncertainty, knowing nothing for sure except that the road ahead would be long, tangled, and far lonelier than she was prepared for.
But when she finally spoke, her voice was steadier than she expected.
"Then I'll search," she murmured.
"Even without direction. Even without certainty."
Corvin bowed his head, his words quiet and unwavering:
"Then we will walk with you."