"In lands drowned by grief, the air itself can weep. And those who sing its song become its silent, consuming tide."
> — Lore of the Ashen Choir, Drowned East>
The mournful wailing of the Ashen Choir intensified behind Ash, a chilling song of endless sorrow that seemed to echo from the very heart of the Drowned East. And from the east, a new sound cut through the damp air: the sharp, rhythmic march of disciplined boots. Captain Valerius and his Royal Guard were already pushing into this land of pervasive grief, drawn by the raw emotional resonance of the land and the desperate, fading beacon of Ash's own presence. Caught between the Queen's insidious influence and a relentless hunter, they ran.
The bleak, waterlogged coastline was treacherous. Marshy ground sucked at their boots, hidden pools of dark water threatened to drag them down, and a thick, swirling mist clung to everything, distorting their vision. Ash clutched the Core of Binding, its pulse a frantic beat mirroring his own racing heart. He pushed his own Will into it, trying to muddle his presence further, to blur the magical scent Valerius was following. The Core pulsed, its essence of Order struggling against the chaotic, sorrow-laden Ley Lines of the Drowned East, making his trail harder to pinpoint but not impossible to follow.
Kael, his face grim, stumbled occasionally in the marshy terrain, but the chilling coldness of his Path of Frost seemed to grant him an unusual resilience. The pervasive grief of the land was a constant psychic assault, but Kael's emotional detachment, forged by his struggle with the Shard of Grief, allowed him to endure it, though a dull ache of sadness still lingered deep within him. He moved with grim resolve, his eyes constantly sweeping for threats.
Selene, her dark robes barely visible in the mist, wove subtle shadow-veils around them, hoping to obscure their movements from distant scouts. Her Path of the Hollow was at home in this damp, misty land, her senses attuned to the spiritual malaise. Lyra, ever agile, led them through narrow passages between crumbling, salt-blasted ruins, her knowledge of difficult terrain vital. Master Elara, though struggling with the pace, kept pace, his fear overridden by the sheer urgency of their escape.
"He's gaining!" Ash gasped, looking back. Through a brief break in the swirling mist, he saw distant figures—the advance party of Valerius's men, moving with terrifying speed, their forms like dark, disciplined shadows.
"Into the ruins!" Lyra yelled, pointing towards a cluster of half-submerged, crumbling stone buildings ahead. It was an ancient fishing village, slowly being swallowed by the rising waters. Its skeleton of forgotten homes offered a desperate chance for cover.
They plunged into the ruins, the mournful wailing of the Ashen Choir growing louder, echoing off the crumbling walls. The village was deserted, filled with the ghosts of lost lives, its few remaining structures half-drowned by the encroaching tide. They scrambled into what looked like a relatively intact, large communal hall, its roof half-collapsed but offering temporary concealment.
But the moment they stepped inside, the mournful wailing of the Ashen Choir intensified directly around them, no longer distant. The air in the decaying hall grew impossibly thick, heavy with a profound, consuming despair. The mist outside thickened, turning the windows into swirling grey voids. The dark water around the village began to rise, not from the natural tide, but from an unseen, chilling force, glowing faintly with a dark, sorrowful light from beneath the surface.
Ash felt the Core of Binding throb in his hand, its essence of Will struggling against an overwhelming imposition. And from the depths of the rising water, shadowy, weeping forms began to coalesce. They were translucent, ethereal, made of pure, liquid grief, their silent, despairing cries resonating directly in Ash's mind. It was the Mourning Tide, a direct, terrifying manifestation of the Queen of Sorrow's power of Grief and Sovereignty, binding them, sealing their escape, trying to drag them into an ocean of endless sorrow. They had sought refuge, only to find themselves trapped within the very heart of the Queen's pervasive despair.