Young Olkhar fighting atop Mount Ilhyr. Stone creatures appearing from nowhere. And the Dome... roaring as if it were alive.
Ithor shuddered. The sound described by the travelers, that deep and resonant echo, was the same he had heard in his dreams—mixed with Faaron's howl. A deep, ancestral call. It wasn't just magic. It was a sign.
The Bearer had emerged.
The rumors had spread rapidly across Inhevaen following the events at Mount Ilhyr.
Merchants, travelers, and messengers carried fragmented accounts of what had transpired during the Olkhar Awakening ceremony—stories that grew more elaborate and mythologized with each retelling. Some claimed the Dome itself had cracked open, revealing glimpses of what lay beyond. Others insisted that a young Olkhar had transformed into a being of pure light, ascending to the Dome before returning to earth.
The more grounded accounts still spoke of unprecedented magic—a direct intervention by the Dome in mortal affairs that had not been witnessed in recorded history.
What caught Ithor's attention was not the more fantastical elements of these stories, but the description of the sound that had accompanied the event. Travelers spoke of a deep, resonant vibration that had been felt rather than heard—a sound that seemed to emanate from the Dome itself and reverberate through the very foundations of Inhevaen. This description matched precisely what he experienced in his dreams when Faaron's howl called to him across the barrier of death.
The coincidence was too precise to ignore. Something within him recognized this connection immediately, triggering a physical response—his heart racing, the void where his bond had been suddenly aching with renewed intensity. It was as if a key had turned in a lock he hadn't known existed, opening a door to understanding that had previously been closed to him.
If the stories were true, then the Dome had awakened for the first time in centuries. And if the Dome had awakened... then everything would change. Perhaps the scars that Ithor carried could also find healing.
Perhaps there was still time.
The next morning, he left Esh-Tahar. He didn't say where he was going. He didn't say goodbye. He just collected his blackened leather cloak, adjusted the curved Blade attached to his belt, and touched the silent ring he still carried—the one he had used to meet Nora. It didn't glow.
But Ithor no longer needed that. The call was different now. And the path guided him north.
To the top of Ilhyr.
To the Bearer.
And, perhaps... to Faaron.
And, with firm steps, Ithor turned his eyes to the north. Toward the call of the Dome.
As he journeyed northward, Ithor became aware of subtle changes in his perception. The dreams of Faaron grew more frequent and detailed, often featuring the same mountainous landscape he now traveled toward. More strikingly, he began experiencing moments of dual awareness during his waking hours—brief flashes where he seemed to perceive his surroundings from two perspectives simultaneously, as if seeing through eyes other than his own.
These episodes were disorienting and initially frightening. According to everything he had been taught about broken bonds, such experiences should have faded over time, not intensified. Yet as he drew closer to Mount Ilhyr, they became more pronounced and coherent. Sometimes, in the moments between sleeping and waking, he could almost hear Faaron's thoughts forming in his mind—fragmented and distant, but unmistakably present.
The journey was not without its dangers. Word of his activities had spread beyond the forest borders, and agents of the Black Thorn Guild made several attempts to ambush him along the less-traveled paths. Each time, he was saved by an inexplicable forewarning—a sudden urge to change direction, an overwhelming sense of danger from a path that appeared safe, or in one case, waking from a sound sleep moments before assassins reached his camp.
After the third such escape, Ithor began to suspect that these warnings were not merely lucky instincts but something more—interventions from a presence that traveled with him, unseen but vigilant. The thought should have been comforting, but it filled him with a complex mixture of hope and dread. If some part of Faaron truly remained connected to him, what did that mean for his wolf brother's spirit? Was it trapped in some half-existence, unable to move on because of their severed bond?
This question haunted him as he crossed the final stretch of wilderness separating him from Mount Ilhyr. The mountain itself was visible for days before he reached it—a massive peak that dominated the horizon, its upper slopes perpetually shrouded in mist.
According to the stories he had heard, the Bearer had awakened during an Olkhar ceremony near the summit, in an ancient stone circle used for their initiation rituals.
As he began the ascent, following a narrow path used primarily by supply caravans serving the Olkhar settlements, Ithor felt a growing certainty that he was approaching a turning point—not just in his own journey, but in the larger story of Inhevaen itself. The air seemed charged with potential, the natural magic of the mountain pulsing in rhythm with his own heartbeat.
On the third day of his climb, as he made camp in a sheltered hollow halfway up the mountainside, Ithor experienced the most vivid connection yet. As he drifted toward sleep beside his small fire, the boundary between dreaming and waking dissolved completely. In this liminal state, Faaron appeared before him—not as a ghost or vision, but as a presence so real that Ithor could feel the warmth of his fur, smell the familiar scent of his wolf brother.
No words passed between them, but understanding flowed freely. Faaron's spirit had not moved on after death but had instead been caught in a state of suspension—neither fully in the world of the living nor completely passed beyond. This was not a natural occurrence but the result of the specific poison used by Nora, designed to create exactly this type of spiritual tethering.
More importantly, Ithor understood that this suspended state was not permanent. The awakening of the Bearer had created ripples throughout the spiritual fabric of Inhevaen, weakening the barriers between different states of existence. These ripples had allowed Faaron's spirit to draw closer to the physical world, making contact possible in a way it hadn't been before.
As the vision faded and Ithor drifted deeper into sleep, one final impression remained—a sense that their separation was approaching its end, though not in any way either of them could fully comprehend. The path forward would require sacrifice and transformation, but it would lead to reunion. Not as they had been before, but as something new—something necessary for what was to come.
Ithor woke at dawn with tears on his face but a renewed sense of purpose in his heart.
Whatever awaited him at the summit of Mount Ilhyr, he would face it without fear. The void within him still ached, but now it felt less like an endless emptiness and more like a space waiting to be filled—a broken thing preparing to be remade.
With the first light of morning illuminating the path ahead, he continued his ascent toward the Bearer and whatever destiny awaited him there.