Descending to the foothills of the Pinnacle of the Wind was like falling into the stomach of a storm. The wind beating against the bare rocks was no longer a roar, but a constant, ear-splitting scream. The air smelled of dust and electricity, but underneath, one could detect the scent of lifeless decay, just like at the Lake of Destiny.
Moaito was scouting the best route to the primitive temple. The grey cloaks patrolled at regular intervals, but their movements were mechanical and predictable. Not seeing Kael's intelligence here made Moaito even more uneasy. Was this a trap?
"We'll split into two groups," he whispered into Sere's ear, his voice almost lost in the wind. "I'll draw their attention. You sneak in through that back entrance to the west. Your goal is to reach the main temple and find the source of the corruption."
Sere's eyes widened. "Alone? But..."
"You are no longer a student, Sere," Moaito cut her off, his tone harsh but fair. "You walked on the Lake of Destiny. You resisted Kael's mental attack. Your strength is with you, whether you realize it or not. Just trust it."
These words sparked something in Sere. She drew a veil over her fear, took a deep breath, and nodded. "I understand."
Moaito moved directly towards the main entrance. A moment later, chaos erupted there. The gleam of light and shadow swords mingled with the alarm cries of the grey cloaks. All attention turned to him.
This was Sere's chance. Gliding from one rock shadow to another, silent as a statue, she reached the narrow, half-hidden passage in the west. She slipped inside.
Inside was the complete opposite of the chaos outside. The air was heavy, still, and deafeningly silent. The scream of the wind did not reach here. The walls were covered with reliefs depicting wind gods and flying creatures, but all of them were marred by a diseased stain, black or white, just like in the root chamber.
The Threshold Stone throbbed on her chest. It guided her through a series of narrow corridors, downwards, towards the heart of the mountain. With every step, a pressure built in her mind. This time, it wasn't images of her past, but the fear of silence. It was as if the nothingness here wanted to swallow her very existence, to turn her into a void. Her steps slowed. I'm alone. I'll get lost. I'll never find Moaito.
Just then, the corridor widened, and Sere found herself in a vast, circular chamber. The chamber's ceiling had a hole, and through it, the lower part of the spinning, sick vortex was visible. In the exact center of the room, a crystal hovered in the air, spinning. It was full of black and white cracks, and with every rotation, it seemed to pump out the unbalanced wind outside and this suffocating silence inside. This was the heart of the corruption.
But Sere was not alone.
There was another person in the room, his back turned to her, watching the crystal. He wasn't wearing a grey cloak. He had simple, dark travel clothes. The man turned slowly. He had a young, intelligent face, but his eyes held a weariness and stubbornness similar to Kael's. This was not Kael.
"So we have a guest," the man said, his voice as calm and flat as the room. "Kael mentioned the old man had a young girl with him. But he didn't say you were... strong enough to come this far alone."
"Who are you?" Sere asked, raising her sword into a defensive stance.
"My name is Lyrian," the man replied. "I was once a historian, just like you, recording this world's sounds and stories. Until I saw the truth." He pointed to the crystal. "This 'storm' is not destruction. It is purification. The wind no longer carries lies and empty hopes. It only carries... the truth: the peace of nothingness."
Sere could hear the insidious, seductive logic in the man's words. It was a reflection of Kael's philosophy.
"This is not peace!" Sere shouted, her voice tearing through the dead room. "This is death! If you are a historian, why are you destroying instead of recording?"
A cruel understanding appeared on Lyrian's face. "Because some stories should not be told. Some songs should not be sung. They only bring pain. And I am here to bring an end to that pain."
Lyrian did not launch a physical attack. Instead, he directed the silence in the room at Sere like a weapon. Sounds, colors, even the echo of her own thoughts were swallowed, suffocating her with a sense of absolute loneliness and meaninglessness. It was a more subtle, more intellectual attack than Kael's.
Sere fell to her knees. She closed her eyes. She couldn't even hear her own heartbeat. She was alone. Lost.
Your strength is with you.
Moaito's words flashed in her mind like lightning. She shouldn't seek her strength outside, in her sword or the stone. Strength was inside her. It was in her intention to conquer her fear, to move forward, to live.
She took a deep breath—defying the silence filling her lungs. And then, she began to hum a song. A simple, forgotten lullaby she had learned from her mother as a child. Her voice was weak and cracked at first, almost instantly swallowed by the silence.
But she didn't give up. She focused on the Threshold Stone. She used it not as a fist or a shield, but as an amplifier. She poured her own intent, her own humanity, her own existence into that simple song.
The voice suddenly grew stronger. It echoed in the chamber. It was a pure, resilient cry of life, piercing the silence. The crystal began to tremble. The calm expression on Lyrian's face cracked with shock and anger.
"Silence!" he shouted.
But Sere continued to sing. And this time, the song was not just her voice. It was an echo from the walls, the stones, the mountain itself. It was the memory of untainted, pure life.
At that moment, Moaito appeared at the chamber's entrance. His clothes were torn, he was tired, but his eyes shone with pride. Seeing Sere challenging Lyrian, he did not attack. He only watched. This was her trial.
When Sere finished her song, the suffocating silence in the room was broken, replaced by a vibrating, living stillness. The black and white cracks in the crystal had faded slightly.
Lyrian recoiled in horror. "This... this is impossible."
"No," Sere replied, her voice no longer trembling. "Just human." She turned to Moaito. "Now. Shall we finish this?"
Moaito took a step towards Lyrian, his swords ready. However, Lyrian retreated like a cloud of dust, disappearing into a shadow at the back of the room. His escape was not as dramatic as Kael's; it was more like the flight of a historian accepting defeat.
The two of them were left alone in the chamber. The main target, the spinning crystal still hovering in the air, remained.
And Moaito looked at Sere. "How do we destroy it?" he asked. This time, he was waiting for the answer from her.