"What happened?" Ithor prompted when she didn't immediately continue.
The woman leaned in further, clearly enjoying having a fresh audience for the dramatic news. "An attack, if you can believe it. Children of Silence, dozens of them, appearing right on Mount Ilhyr during the sacred ceremony. Never been anything like it in living memory."
Ithor nearly choked on his drink. Children of Silence — the twisted manifestations that sometimes appeared in Dead Zones — attacking during an Awakening ceremony? On Mount Ilhyr, which was supposed to be protected by ancient wards? This went beyond unusual; it was a fundamental disruption of the natural order.
"How did they survive?" he asked, genuinely curious now.
"That's the most incredible part," the barkeeper said, warming to her story. "They say the prince himself repelled the attack — channeled some kind of energy through the ceremonial obelisks that destroyed all the creatures at once. Not just destroyed them, but purified them somehow. Turned them to dust."
This aligned perfectly with what the Sangor elder had told him about the Bearer — someone who could channel the Dome's energy directly. It seemed increasingly likely that this Prince Karel was indeed one of the three individuals Ithor sought.
"Sounds like quite a tale," he said, careful not to appear too credulous or too skeptical. "Is the prince still in the city?"
"Where else would he be?" the barkeeper replied with a shrug. "The royal compound is the safest place in Olkaris, especially with all these strange occurrences. Though there's talk that a Sylarei researcher arrived yesterday to consult with him about the Dead Zone in the market square. Apparently, she's some kind of expert on Dome anomalies."
Ithor's pulse quickened. A Sylarei researcher specializing in Dome anomalies — potentially the Word, the second of the three he sought. And both individuals here in Olkaris, possibly even meeting with each other already.
The crystal amulet against his chest was noticeably warm now, though still not providing any specific direction. But Ithor didn't need direction anymore — he knew where to focus his attention: the royal compound at the center of the city.
He finished his drink, thanked the barkeeper for the information, and made his way back out into the night. Finding the royal compound wouldn't be difficult — it was the most prominent feature of the city. Getting inside, however, would be another matter entirely. Especially for someone like him, with no official status or legitimate reason for seeking an audience with the prince.
As he walked through the quieter streets, considering his options, Ithor felt the now- familiar flicker of Faaron's presence. But this time, it was different — stronger, more focused, almost as if the wolf's spirit was trying to communicate something specific rather than just offering general guidance.
Ithor stopped in a shadowed alcove and closed his eyes, focusing on the remnants of their bond. "What is it, brother-soul?" he whispered. "What are you trying to tell me?"
No words came in response — that level of communication had been lost with the breaking of their bond — but Ithor received a series of impressions: urgency, direction, a sense of something approaching. He opened his eyes, scanning his surroundings with heightened awareness.
The street appeared empty, but Ithor's hunter's instincts told him he was not alone. Someone — or something — was nearby, watching, waiting.
He slipped his hand to the knife at his belt, ready to defend himself if necessary. But before he could identify the source of his unease, a new sensation overtook him — a sudden, intense vibration from the crystal amulet, so strong it was almost painful against his skin.
At the same moment, a sound filled his mind — not heard with his ears but perceived directly in his consciousness. A song, complex and alien, beautiful and terrible simultaneously. It resonated through his entire being, setting every nerve alight with awareness.
The Dome's song. It had to be. Just as the Sangor elder had described — a communication from beyond the barrier that surrounded their world, growing more urgent as the cycle progressed.
Ithor gasped, overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience. He braced himself against the nearest wall, struggling to maintain his composure as the song filled his awareness, drowning out all other sensations.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the song faded to a more manageable level — still present, but no longer overwhelming. In its wake came a clarity, a certainty that Ithor couldn't explain but couldn't deny either.
He knew where he needed to go. Not to the royal compound as he had planned, but to a specific location on the eastern edge of the city. The knowledge had simply appeared in his mind, placed there by whatever force had sent the song.
Without questioning this sudden certainty — there would be time for questions later — Ithor began moving through the streets with renewed purpose. The crystal amulet continued to vibrate against his chest, growing warmer with each step in the right direction, confirming that he was on the correct path.
The eastern quarter of Olkaris was less affluent than the central districts, its buildings more functional than beautiful. As Ithor navigated its streets, following the guidance of both the crystal and the inexplicable knowledge in his mind, he noticed signs of recent disturbance — buildings with scorch marks, areas cordoned off by city guards, residents speaking in hushed tones as they hurried about their business.
Something had happened here recently. Something that had left the population on edge.
Ithor's path led him to what appeared to be an abandoned building — a small temple or shrine of some kind, its entrance partially collapsed, its windows dark. A sign had been posted on a makeshift barrier before it: "Danger — Unstable Structure — Keep Out by Order of the Royal Guard."
But the crystal amulet was practically burning against Ithor's skin now, and the knowledge planted in his mind insisted that this was his destination. Whatever — or whoever — he sought was inside this damaged building.
He circled the structure carefully, looking for a less obvious entrance than the collapsed front doorway. At the rear, he found what he was seeking — a small window at ground level, likely leading to a storage area or basement, its boarding hastily done and already coming loose in places.
After ensuring he wasn't observed, Ithor quickly removed the boards and slipped through the opening, finding himself in a dark, dusty space that smelled of smoke and something else — something acrid and unnatural that made his nose wrinkle in distaste.
He paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Gradually, shapes emerged from the gloom — shelves, storage containers, a stairway leading up to what must be the main floor of the building. But what caught Ithor's attention was a faint glow coming from behind a partially open door at the far end of the basement.
Moving silently despite the debris underfoot, Ithor approached the door. The crystal amulet was vibrating so intensely now that he had to press a hand against his chest to dampen the sensation. The Dome's song, too, had returned to his awareness, though thankfully not at the overwhelming volume he had experienced earlier.
He peered through the gap in the door and saw a sight that confirmed all his suspicions and raised a host of new questions.
The room beyond was small, possibly once used for private ceremonies or meditation. But now its center was occupied by a perfect circle of grayness — a Dead Zone, right here inside the building. And kneeling at its edge, her back to Ithor, was a woman in the distinctive robes of a Sylarei researcher, her skin marked with the living runes that characterized her race.
She appeared to be taking measurements or readings of some kind, consulting a book that lay open beside her, occasionally making notes. She worked with the focused intensity of a scholar, seemingly oblivious to the potential danger of her proximity to the Dead Zone.
But what truly captured Ithor's attention was what — or rather who — stood on the opposite side of the Dead Zone, partially concealed in shadows but unmistakably present.
A young man with silver hair and the bearing of nobility, dressed in simple but high-quality clothing. An Olkhar, clearly, and one who radiated a subtle power that Ithor could perceive even from a distance. This had to be Prince Karel, the rumored Bearer who had manifested all seven gifts.
And standing slightly behind him, a figure that made Ithor's blood run cold with recognition and rage.