The healer hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave her patient in such an agitated state. "I don't recommend — "
Please," Merial interrupted gently. "Just for a few minutes. I promise to call you immediately if his condition worsens."
After another moment of hesitation, Selene nodded reluctantly. "Very well. But no more than ten minutes. He truly does need rest to complete his recovery." She gathered her instruments and moved toward the door, pausing to add, "I'll be just outside if you need me."
When they were alone, Merial pulled a chair close to Ithor's bedside and sat, studying him more carefully. The Naruun exile looked better than he had three days ago — his color had returned, and the feverish sheen had left his skin. But there was still a tension in his posture, a barely contained energy that suggested he was fighting to remain in the bed rather than leaping up to take action.
"Tell me about the song," she said without preamble. "What exactly are you hearing?"
Ithor seemed relieved by her direct approach. "It's not exactly hearing," he explained, his voice steadier now. "Not with my ears. It's... in my mind. A complex pattern of sounds that shouldn't make sense but somehow does. It's been present since I regained consciousness, growing louder and more insistent with each passing hour."
"And what is it communicating?" Merial asked, her researcher's instincts fully engaged despite the strangeness of the conversation.
"Urgency," Ithor replied immediately. "Warning. A sense that time is running out." He closed his eyes briefly, as if listening to something only he could hear. "And coordinates. A location. Somewhere to the north of here, in the mountains beyond the Great Forest."
This was new and potentially significant information. "Coordinates? You can determine an actual physical location from this... song?"
Ithor nodded, opening his eyes again. "Not with precision, but yes. A general area. And Faaron confirms it."
"Faaron?" Merial repeated, though she knew from his earlier account that this was his deceased Anirû companion. "You're still... in contact with him?"
"More strongly than ever," Ithor said, his expression a mixture of wonder and concern. "Since Nora's attack in the temple, his presence has been almost constant. Not just impressions or fleeting sensations, but actual communication. As if the breaking of our bond has evolved into something new, something different."
He touched a broken fang that hung from a cord around his neck — a memento of his companion, Merial assumed. "He's urging us north. To the mountains. To a place where the Dome's barrier is thinnest."
Merial considered this carefully. It aligned with what she had learned from the ancient texts — that as the cycle progressed, the First would attempt to communicate more directly, possibly indicating a location where the three could interact with it more clearly.
But it could also be a trap. The poison from Nora's blade might have affected Ithor's mind in ways the healers couldn't detect, making him susceptible to false impressions or external manipulation.
"Karel should be arriving tomorrow," she said, deciding to neither dismiss nor fully accept Ithor's experience until they could discuss it together. "We should wait for him before making any decisions about travel."
Ithor shook his head, frustration evident in his expression. "We may not have that much time. The song is changing, becoming more urgent with each passing hour. And there's something else..." He hesitated, then continued more quietly. "Nora is moving. I can feel it, through whatever connection was established when she used the blue fragment on me three years ago. She's gathering forces, preparing for something significant."
This was concerning if true. "What kind of forces?"
"I don't know exactly," Ithor admitted. "But Faaron senses multiple presences moving through the Great Forest — not Naruun patrols or normal travelers. Something else.
Something wrong."
Merial frowned, trying to reconcile this information with what she had learned from the historical accounts. In the previous cycle, the faction supporting the First's liberation had eventually resorted to direct action when manipulation failed — attempting to destroy the mechanisms that maintained the prison.
Could Nora and her Lady of Shadows be planning something similar? A direct assault on whatever physical structures or magical constructs reinforced the Dome at its weakest points?
"I need to consult with Master Thelian," she said, rising from her chair. "And we need to send word to Karel, urging him to expedite his journey here."
Ithor caught her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "There's more," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Something I haven't told the healers because I feared they would dismiss it as hallucination. When I was unconscious, fighting the poison... I saw something. Or someone."
Merial sat back down, her full attention captured by the intensity in his voice. "What did you see?"
"A being of light and energy," Ithor replied, his eyes distant with the memory. "Not human, not Anirû, not anything I recognize from our world. It spoke to me, not in words but in concepts, images, emotions. It showed me... possibilities."
"What kind of possibilities?" Merial prompted when he fell silent.
Ithor's expression was troubled. "Two futures. In one, the Dome remained intact but changed somehow, more permeable, allowing communication without full liberation. In the other..." He shook his head, as if trying to clear a disturbing image. "In the other, the Dome was gone completely, and Inhevaen was transformed. Not destroyed, as the historical accounts suggest, but... elevated. Changed in fundamental ways I can't fully describe."
This aligned with the conflicting predictions Merial had found in the ancient texts — some forecasting apocalypse if the First were freed, others transcendence. But the fact that Ithor had experienced such a vision while unconscious suggested either a genuine communication from beyond the Dome or a very sophisticated form of manipulation.
"Did this being identify itself?" she asked. "Did it claim to be the First?"
"No," Ithor said, surprising her. "It didn't claim to be anything. It simply showed me these possibilities and then... left me to draw my own conclusions." He met her gaze directly. "That's why I believe it was genuine. No attempt to persuade or manipulate, just information offered freely."
It was a compelling point. True manipulation often disguised itself as guidance or protection, as Nora had attempted with her role as advisor to Karel. Simple presentation of options without pressure suggested a different intent.
"I'll speak with Master Thelian about this," Merial decided. "And I'll have word sent to Karel immediately. But Ithor..." She hesitated, then continued firmly. "You need to rest and complete your recovery. Whatever journey may lie ahead, you won't be able to undertake it in your current condition."
He looked ready to argue but then seemed to recognize the logic of her position. "One day," he conceded. "I'll give myself one more day to regain strength. But no longer. The song grows more urgent, Merial. Whatever is coming, it won't wait for our convenience."
"Understood," she agreed, rising again. "I'll return this evening with whatever information Master Thelian can provide about the location you've sensed in the mountains."
As she turned to leave, Ithor spoke once more: "Merial... thank you. For believing me. Or at least, for not dismissing me outright."
She looked back at him, this strange exile with his broken bond and his visions and his certainties. "We're in this together, Ithor. Bearer, Word, and Broken Bond. Whatever choice we face, we'll face it with open eyes and honest communication between us."
He nodded, seeming to relax slightly at this assurance. "The three shall meet where shadows fall," he murmured, echoing the prophecy they had all heard in different forms. "Together, they will face the truth."
"Together," Merial agreed, though a small voice in the back of her mind wondered if that would be enough. The previous three had also started together, only to be divided by manipulation and conflicting visions of what was right.
As she left the medical wing, her mind was already racing with plans and preparations. Messages to be sent, research to be conducted, supplies to be gathered. If Ithor's sense of urgency was justified — and something in her own perception of the corrupted runic patterns suggested it might be — then they had precious little time to prepare for whatever lay ahead.
The University of Ny'theras had been her home and sanctuary for years, a place of learning and discovery where the mysteries of the Dome could be studied in academic safety. But now, it seemed, the time for distant study was ending. The mysteries were coming to them, demanding not just understanding but action.
The Word would need to do more than interpret. She would need to decide, to choose, to act.
And the consequences of that choice would echo through Inhevaen for generations to come.