The Stone Way ended abruptly.
One moment it was beneath their feet—stable, carved, sure.
The next, it broke apart like scattered teeth, vanishing into the roots of dark trees and crumbling ridgelines. Before them stretched a valley unlike any they had seen: low and wide, shrouded in shadow even as the morning sun climbed high.
Frido stood at the edge, eyes narrow.
"This is it," he whispered.
Teren looked at the map.
"There's no name here."
Frido nodded.
"That's because this is the place no one dares name."
---
Footprints in Ash
They descended carefully. The earth was soft and dry beneath their boots, as if the ground itself was exhaling dust. As they walked, the air grew colder. Not sharp like a mountain breeze—but dense, like something ancient lying just beneath the surface.
Then Frido saw them.
Footprints.
Old, half-erased, but unmistakably human. Leading not away from the valley—but into it.
He knelt beside one, brushing it with his fingers.
"Someone came here," he said.
Teren muttered, "And didn't come out."
---
The Vale Whispers
Wind moved in slow circles around them, brushing their cloaks and carrying sounds too quiet to be voices—but too intentional to be just wind.
Frido paused, turning toward a tree twisted like a scream.
"What do you hear?" Teren asked.
Frido didn't answer right away.
Then:
"Regret."
He stepped forward.
The trees thinned—and a wide stretch of flat, pale stone opened before them. In its center stood a monument: a simple pillar, black as night, untouched by moss or dust.
Teren approached cautiously.
"What is this?"
Frido stared at the base. "A marker."
"For what?"
He touched the stone.
And it spoke.
---
The Stone That Remembers
Not with words—but with images.
Visions flooded Frido's mind.
A battlefield, soaked in rain and blood.
Soldiers with eyes hollowed by betrayal.
A young man standing alone before a council, holding a tattered white flag—ignored.
Then fire.
Then silence.
Frido gasped and pulled back, falling to one knee.
Teren caught him.
"What did it show you?"
Frido stared at the pillar.
"The first time peace was refused."
---
The Broken Camp
They followed a narrow trail beyond the monument and came upon a makeshift camp, long abandoned. Torn tents. Scattered crates. A cooking pot half-buried in soil.
And, to one side, a wooden box sealed with wax.
Frido opened it.
Inside: a book.
Another journal—thinner, with a ribbon bound around it.
The first page read:
"To whoever finds this: you must remember."
He read aloud the final entry.
> "We waited at the edge. The envoy never returned. We lit no fires. We sang no songs. We only listened for footsteps. None came."
> "I think the peace was real—but someone killed it before it reached us."
> "If you read this, remember our silence was not surrender. It was sacrifice."
---
Of Men and Myths
That night, by a small fire, Teren turned to Frido.
"You ever think we're chasing ghosts?"
Frido looked into the flames. "No."
"Why?"
"Because ghosts don't leave footprints."
Teren didn't respond.
Frido continued. "We're not here to find peace. We're here to understand why it died."
---
The Weight of Knowing
Frido took out both journals—the one from Eris Faln, and the one from the Silent Vale. He flipped through them, comparing entries, names, timelines.
He stopped on one page.
There, written in two different hands, was the same phrase:
"One man carried our silence."
He looked at Teren.
"I think someone tried to take the truth to the world."
Teren raised a brow. "You think they made it?"
Frido's voice dropped to a whisper.
"No."
---
In the Morning
They left the camp just after dawn. The fog was lighter today, almost welcoming.
Frido stood one last time before the black pillar, placed a stone at its base, and whispered:
> "You were heard."
As they walked eastward toward the hills that marked the end of the vale, a sound echoed faintly behind them.
A voice.
Soft and old.
> "Thank you."
Teren turned. "Did you hear that?"
Frido didn't look back.
"Yes," he said.
And they walked on.
---
[End of Chapter 10]