The silence after Rivu's departure was thick with tension and unspoken questions. Lucian kept a wary eye on Kaelen, his hand never straying far from his sword. Finley, ever the cautious scholar, peppered the scout with hesitant inquiries.
"Why did you help us?" Finley asked, adjusting his spectacles nervously. "You serve King Theron, who clearly wants the amulet."
Kaelen sighed, his gaze sweeping over the ancient trees. "I serve the crown, yes, but I am not blind. King Theron's ambition… it feels reckless. The legends… they speak of this amulet as something far more significant than a key to a gold cave."
"Legends?" Lucian's interest was piqued. "What legends?"
"Tales of a powerful sea goddess who once dwelled in these lands," Kaelen began, his voice low. "Before the kingdoms were as they are now, she was a protector, a force of nature. The amulet was said to be connected to her power, a focus or a key to her domain."
"A sea goddess… here?" Finley frowned. "The Obsidian Tides are far from here."
"The land changes, scholar," Kaelen replied. "And the legends speak of her sorrow, a great loss that drove her to the sea. It is said a prophecy foretold her fate, her connection to a cursed ruler and a bloom under a darkened sun." He paused, his eyes meeting Lucian's. "The prophecy… it spoke of the 'Frozen Heart' and the 'Serpent's Shadow.'"
Lucian felt a chill despite the humid forest air. The prophecy Eldrin had shared… it echoed in Kaelen's words. "Go on," he urged.
"The legends say this goddess was betrayed, her heart frozen by grief. And that her destiny is intertwined with a ruler bearing the mark of the serpent, seeking solace…" Kaelen hesitated, a strange look crossing his face. He seemed about to speak a name.
But before the word could leave his lips, a wave of mournful echoes swept through the forest. They were not the illusions of the Whispering Willows, but deeper, more resonant sounds, like the cries of a lost soul carried on the wind. The very trees seemed to sigh, and a palpable sense of sorrow settled over the clearing. The stag-dragonfly, which had remained nearby, lowered its head, its luminous wings dimming.
Kaelen stopped speaking, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. "The lament… it is said the guardian of the bloom weeps for his lost love. We are close."
The mournful echoes faded as quickly as they had begun, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. The air felt charged, the anticipation of their encounter with the guardian palpable.The mournful echoes left a lingering sense of sorrow in the air, a palpable weight that seemed to cling to the very leaves and branches of the Lumina Obscura. Following the map, which now seemed to pulse with a faint, ethereal light, Lucian, Finley, and the increasingly subdued Kaelen ventured deeper into a section of the forest where the trees themselves seemed to weep. Droplets of a clear, shimmering liquid fell from their leaves, not like rain, but like tears shed in silent grief, collecting in small, melancholic pools on the forest floor.
"This… this must be the guardian's sorrow made manifest," Finley whispered, his voice hushed with reverence and a touch of unease. He carefully collected a droplet of the liquid on his finger. It felt strangely cold, carrying a faint, almost musical hum.
The very path beneath their feet seemed to twist and turn erratically, as if guided by a restless spirit. Illusions flickered at the edges of their vision – fleeting images of a figure kneeling in despair, the shimmer of water where there was none, the faint scent of saltwater carried on the breeze despite their distance from the sea. Viper, usually a constant tormentor, was strangely quiet, as if even its malevolent influence was subdued by the pervasive sorrow of the woods.
Kaelen, his earlier bravado replaced by a somber respect, pointed to a series of ancient carvings on the trunk of a massive, weeping willow. "These tell the tale of a siren, beloved by the forest's protector. A tragic loss… a betrayal… her heart turned to ice, her domain the deep sea." He traced the image of a beautiful, sorrowful face with webbed fingers and flowing hair that seemed to dissolve into waves. "The guardian's grief has permeated this entire wood since her departure."
As they pressed on, the creatures of the forest reflected the prevailing sorrow. They saw deer with downcast eyes, their movements slow and listless. Birds sang mournful melodies, their calls echoing through the silent trees like laments. Even the luminous fungi seemed to pulse with a dimmer light, their glow tinged with blue.
The map led them to a clearing bathed in an ethereal twilight, even though the sun should have been higher in the sky. In the center stood a petrified tree, its branches reaching towards the heavens like skeletal arms. At its base, a single, vibrant bud, glowing with an inner, astral light, was just beginning to unfurl – the Cenithia. And kneeling beside it, his head bowed in what seemed like eternal sorrow, was a figure clad in ancient armor, his form radiating a palpable aura of grief. This was Lysander, the guardian.
The mournful echoes they had heard earlier seemed to emanate directly from him, a silent testament to centuries of loss. The air around him shimmered with a potent magic, a tangible manifestation of his unending sorrow.