/ Early Afternoon / 1:33 PM / Moonday, Thirdday 3, Year 522 AC / Waxing Crescent/Hidden Cave below the Howling Cleft / Late Spring / Cold, damp, and still /
"Your family was not wrong. You resemble us in form and scale, but you are something else.
Something rare.
A true child of storm and stone."
He settled back, a hint of what might be respect in his eyes, "Althaea's note speaks of the Shattered Spire and thinning veils."
"That is no small matter."
"Why have you come this way, child of two bloods?"
I shrugged, "I have no set destination for my travels and the note piqued my curiosity."
The Guardian let out another low, rasping chuckle. "Curiosity. A fine reason to climb a mountain. Better than greed, weaker than purpose. But it is a start."
He tapped his staff lightly on the stone floor. "Althaea is -was- a scholar of the elemental currents. If she says the veil is thin near the Shattered Spire, then then it is so. And if 'they' are watching..." The Guardian's eyes narrowed slightly. "... then the quiet days may be ending."
He gestured towards the downward-slopng tunnel at the back of the cave, and a faint, cool draught continued to whisper from it's depths. "This passage is an old way. It avoids the worst of the wind above and leads to the base of the Howling Cleft, near to where the Spire once stood. If your curiosity still holds, it is a safer path than the cliff face you just fell from."
The Guardian then looked me over once more, his gaze analytical, "You have strenght and the spark of storm within you."
"But the path ahead may require more than curiosity. It may require a choice. To observe... or to act."
He fell silent, leaving the decision to me. The tunnel beckoned, dark and unknown, and the Guardian seemed content to wait, a patient sentinel in the half-light. "Well I'm off, it was nice to meet you elder. I am Kaida Stormwing of the Frost Giants."
The guardian gave a slow, deliberate nod of respect, "Well met, Kaida Stormwing."
"I am Zhorath."
"Remember the name. The mountains have long memories, and so do I."
Rising with a soft rustle of furs, using his staff for support, he said, "The tunnel will take you where you need to go. But know this: the Shattered Spire is not just a place of broken stone. It is a place of still storms and silent lightning. Your blood may sing there... or it may tremble. Tread carefully."
With that, Zhorath settled back onto his rock, fading into the cave's shadows, his watchful eyes still glintingbbin the dim light.
The downward-slopng tunnel before me was dark, but not utterly black. A faint, bluish glow seemed to emanated from lichen patches or crystals embedded in the walls. The draught was now stronger, carrying a scent both clean and charged, reminiscent of colder air after a thunderstorm.
I stepped onward, following the path before me. The air grew noticeably colder, the dampness giving way to a dry, static chill. The bluish glow from the walls, I realized, wasn't from lichen but from veins of pale crystal embedded in the stone. Pulsing faintly, responding to some unseen energy, they created a hum in the air that wasn't just the distant wind, but a low, sub-audible thrum I could feel in my bones and in the lightning stirring within my blood.
The tunnel descended in a gradual spiral, it's floor worn smooth by ages of water or countless footsteps. I walked for what felt like an hour, the only sounds being my breathing and the occasional skitter of pebbles. The static charge built, making the fine hairs on my arms stand on end, and my scales felt curiously sensitiv, tingling with energy.
Finally, the tunnel ended, opening into a vast, natural cavern ahead.
The Howling Cleft was not a cave but a colossal, vertical gorge slicing through the heart of the mountain. Far above, a narrow slit of grey sky was visible, and the source of the endless howl poured through it: wind screaming between stone lips, hundreds of feet up. The walls of the cleft were sheer and slick with moisture, but at the bottom, it opened into a wide, rocky chamber.
A jagged spire of dark stone dominated the centre of the chamber, a fragment from a much larger structure. This must have been a fragment of the Shattered Spire itself. It stood about twenty feet tall, leaning precariously. Bands of silent, blue-white lightning crackled across it's surface, arcing from its peak to the walls and floor. They didn't flash or thunder, but burnt with a cold, sustained energy, casting dark, dancing shadows.
The air crackled with power, and I could feel it pulling at the storm inside me. At the base of the shattered monolith, partly obscured by rocks, lay a crumpled figure in dark, travel-stained robes.
The lightning was silent, but the howl of the wind above provided a constant mournful backdrop.
Moving forward cautiously, each step deliberate, I watched crackling silent lightning cast flickering shadows across the rough stone floor. The air hummed with potent energy, making the scales along my arms and neck prickle. As I drew nearer, the details resolved.
The figure was a humanoid, lying face-down with one arm outstretched towards the monolith's base. They were clad in dark blue-grey robes, now torn and dusty. A satchel lay nearby, it's strap broken. I could see no obvious signs of movement.
Ten feet from the figure, the pattern of the silent lightning arcs seemed to shift, pulsing almost in rhythm with my heartbeat. A vivid band of energy flickered between the spire and the wall directly above the fallen figure.
My eyes swept across the scene, picking up on details that a less observant traveller might have missed.
The fallen figure remained still, without a sign of even the shallowest breath. Their outstretched hand was curled, not in pain, but as if frozen mid-reach. Their robes, although dusty, showed no major bloodstains or visible wounds. The skin on their neck and hand, however, looked unnaturally pale and almost translucent, with a faint network of blue-white lines beneath the surface that pulsed with the silent lightning.
More alarmingly, I noticed that one of the steady arcs of lightning wasn't striking the wall randomly. Connecting directly from the monolith to a point on the figure's back, it hummed with energy. It looked less like a natural electrical discharge and more like a siphoning tether, draining something from the figure and feeding it into the ancient stone.
It connected directly from the spire to the figure's back, humming with energy. The air around it crackled with static, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. The howling wind above grew more intense, as if the mountain itself were holding it's breath.