As Ithor approached the upper reaches of Mount Ilhyr, the air grew thinner and charged with magical energy. The Olkhar settlements he passed were abuzz with activity and tension—news of the Bearer's awakening had transformed this normally serene mountain into a center of political and spiritual significance. Guards were posted at every path, scrutinizing travelers with unusual vigilance.
Ithor's Naruun heritage made him immediately recognizable despite his exile status. The Mark of Severance on his forehead—the jagged line drawn during his exile ceremony—had faded but remained visible to those who knew what to look for. Several times he was stopped and questioned, his stated purpose of seeking audience with the newly awakened Bearer met with skepticism and suspicion.
"The Bearer sees no one without approval from the Council," a stern Olkhar guard informed him at a checkpoint three-quarters of the way up the mountain. "Especially not a bond-broken Naruun."
The term cut deeper than any blade could. "Bond-broken" was how other races referred to exiled Naruun, but among the Naruun themselves, it was never spoken aloud—a taboo phrase believed to cause additional spiritual harm to those already suffering from a severed connection.
Yet Ithor persisted, camping just outside the settlement boundaries and seeking alternative paths upward. On the third night of his vigil, as he sat beside a small fire sheltered from the mountain winds, he sensed a presence approaching—not with his physical senses, but through the strange awareness that had developed since his bond was broken.
"You seek the Bearer," said a voice from the shadows. An elderly Olkhar woman emerged into the firelight, her robes marked with the five distinct colors that identified her as a Pentadon—a bearer of all five primary gifts. "I've been watching you, exile. Three days you've waited, neither advancing nor retreating. Such patience is rare."
Ithor inclined his head respectfully but remained silent, recognizing the woman as Elder Lyria, one of the most respected members of the Olkhar Council. Her presence here, alone and unannounced, suggested this was not an official visit.
"The Bearer has been dreaming of you," she continued, settling herself across the fire from him. "Or rather, of what you represent. The Broken Bond."
The words sent a jolt through Ithor's system. "What do you mean?"
"There is a prophecy," Lyria explained, her golden eyes reflecting the firelight. "When the Dome's song falters and the void encroaches, the Bearer shall awaken. Seven gifts united in one vessel, the voice of the Dome made flesh. With the Word as guide and the Broken Bond as shield, the Bearer shall either renew the cycle or break it forever."
She studied him intently. "The Bearer has awakened with seven gifts—an impossibility made real. The Word has been identified—a young Sylarei woman who encountered a Child of Silence in a Dead Zone. And now you arrive, carrying a wound in your spirit that resonates with the Dome's own fractured state."
Ithor absorbed this information in silence, the implications slowly unfolding in his mind.
The coincidence was too precise to be chance—his broken bond with Faaron, the dreams that had guided him here, the timing of his arrival so soon after the Bearer's awakening.
Something larger than his personal quest for redemption was at work.
"What does this mean for me?" he finally asked. "For Faaron?"
Lyria's expression softened slightly. "That, I cannot say with certainty. The prophecy speaks only of roles, not outcomes. But I can tell you this: the Bearer must leave Mount Ilhyr soon. Forces gather against him—the same forces that orchestrated the attack during his Awakening. If you truly wish to meet him, there is a place where your paths will cross naturally."
She described a location—a small village at the base of the mountain where the Bearer would stop during his journey to Olkaris. If Ithor traveled there immediately, he could arrive before the Bearer's party and await them.
As she rose to leave, Lyria paused, looking at him with an expression that mingled pity and respect. "The path of the Broken Bond is not an easy one, exile. Whatever redemption you seek may come at a price higher than you imagine."
With those cryptic words, she disappeared back into the darkness, leaving Ithor with a clear direction but many new questions.
The village of Kel'Thyr was little more than a way station—a cluster of buildings serving travelers moving between the mountain and the lowland territories. Ithor arrived two days before the Bearer's expected passage, taking a room at the only inn and spending his time observing the comings and goings of merchants and messengers.
The atmosphere was charged with anticipation. News of the Bearer's journey to Olkaris had spread, and many had gathered hoping to glimpse this legendary figure. Among them, Ithor noticed several individuals who did not fit the pattern of curious onlookers or legitimate travelers—figures who kept to the shadows, watching too carefully, communicating in whispers and subtle hand signals.
On the evening of the second day, as twilight painted the sky in deepening shades of purple, Ithor felt a familiar sensation—the prickling awareness of magical corruption that had guided him to so many hidden Dead Zones along the forest borders. Following this sense, he discovered a small black crystal embedded in the ground near the village's eastern entrance—the main road from Mount Ilhyr.
It was identical to those he had found and destroyed during his time as a border guardian, but its placement here was far more strategic. The crystal was positioned to be activated when the Bearer passed, creating an instantaneous Dead Zone that would disrupt any magical protections and leave the Bearer vulnerable to attack.
Ithor was carefully extracting the crystal when a voice spoke from behind him.
"I wouldn't touch that if I were you."
He turned to find a woman standing a few paces away, her features obscured by the gathering darkness. But as she stepped closer, the last rays of sunlight illuminated her face—and Ithor's blood ran cold.