Dawn broke crisp and pale over the western terraces as the four guardians and Riven gathered at the Hall of Unity's eastern gate. The Festival of Harmony's echoes still lingered in their hearts, but the distant plume of dust on the horizon weighed heavy on their minds.
Riven spread the Wellspring lantern's soft glow across an ancient map. "The dust rose from the Eastern Wastes," he said, tracing a cracked line between Elderglen and the Sunscorch Expanse. "There, old ruins lie half-buried beneath glass-blown sands. Long ago, they served as waystations for travelers between our realms—now they are said to house twisted wind-temples of the Shadow Cult's remnants."
Lior flexed his fingers, ember-light flickering at his fingertips. "We cannot allow corruption to sprout anew. My flame will burn any darkness we find." He hefted his dagger, its hilt warmed by the Flame Shard at his breast.
Sylas closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath of morning air. "The wind carries their secrets—and their fears. I will listen for their whispers before they reach our walls." He tucked his feather token into his cloak and tested the breeze, which responded with a playful swirl that nonetheless carried an undercurrent of tension.
Corwin bent to fill his conch at a nearby fountain. The water inside glowed faintly with Wellspring's light. "The tide of corruption may shift eastward," he warned. "I will chart every oasis and caravan well—no poisoned drop must slip past me." He slung the conch at his hip, ready to summon cleansing waters on the move.
Bram tapped his earthroot staff on the paved courtyard. Roots quivered beneath their feet, anchoring the stone with quiet strength. "Wherever their rot has spread, the earth will speak. I will listen and set living wards in its place." His staff's carved head hummed with expectant energy.
Riven folded the map. "We ride at first light. Sylas, take the sky-couriers and map the wind-paths. Corwin, helm the river-galleys and keep the caravan routes safe. Bram, leave living markers in the Stonevale passes to warn us of tremors or tunnels. Lior and I will scout the northern trail into the wastes—flank the Expanse's rim and find the ruined waystation known as the Hall of Four Winds."
They clasped joined hands above the map, echoing their vow:
"By flame, wind, tide, and stone,
United hearts will stand—
In every waste, on every path,
Our bonds withstand."
Outside the gate, the Eastern Wastes unfurled: rolling dunes of ochre sand, where sun-baked stones lay half-submerged and distant monoliths cast long, restless shadows. Sylas and his sky-couriers lifted above the treetops, their kites dancing on the thermals. Corwin's river-flotilla slid past mist-clad bends toward the desert's edge. Bram's earth-ward patrols inscribed living runes of warding across every mountain pass. And Lior and Riven pressed northward along a dry ridge, scouts' eyes peeled for any sign of the Cult's hidden sanctuaries.
As the sun climbed its arc, the first broken pillars of the Hall of Four Winds appeared—a circle of wind-scarred columns jutting from the sands like the ribs of a buried beast. At their center lay a shattered basin, its carved vine-and-feather rim stained black.
Lior knelt beside it, flame flickering at his palm. The basin's carvings had once channeled cooling zephyrs across thirsty travelers—now it reeked of brimstone. "They have poisoned the wind's heart," he said, voice tight with resolve.
Riven stood at his shoulder, lantern raised. Its light revealed half-erased runes along the base of one column—runes that matched those fractured in the Whispering Grove. "Wherever they strike, their corruption blooms the same. We must cleanse this hollow… before these silent pillars become gale-tombs."
Lior placed a glowing ember in the basin's center. It flared, burning away the sickly residue. As the smoke lifted, a gentle breeze stirred—the wind's first pure breath in these ruins. Riven smiled, hope in his eyes. "One pillar healed," he said. "Now to the next… and the next… until every whisper of darkness is silenced."
Together, they rose and strode toward the leaning columns, flames and lantern light dancing in their wake. Beyond them, the golden sea of sand stretched into mirage and mystery—and the promise that no waste, however barren, could stand against four hearts bound as one.