Voices on the Deep Current

Days bled into one another in the timeless twilight of the grotto. Ren's life found a new, strange rhythm, divided between periods of deep, meditative vigil and moments of restorative peace. The vigil was the hardest work he had ever known. It required him to keep a sliver of his consciousness perpetually tethered to his scar, listening for the faintest whisper of dark magic in the oppressive silence of Theron's contained spirit. It was like sitting in a perfectly quiet room, straining to hear a sound that might never come, all while a single, dissonant note played endlessly in the back of his mind.

The strain was immense. At times, the cold emptiness of the Hollow's philosophy would seep into his thoughts, and he would have to pull back, plunging his hands into the grotto's pure water or focusing on Shiro's steady, living warmth to remind himself of what was real.

In the periods between his watch, he spoke with Kasai. The Great Turtle, with a memory that stretched back through ages, became his teacher. He shared stories of the world before the great forests had names, of the First Covenants between the spirits of Land, Water, and Sky. He spoke of other Guardians, long since passed—a great wolf who commanded the plains, a wise crane who knew the secrets of the wind. Through these stories, Ren began to understand that his role was not a new burden, but the continuation of a very ancient, and often lonely, duty.

"Patience is a Guardian's sharpest claw," Kasai's voice rumbled in his mind one afternoon as Ren grew restless. "The Hollow's greatest strength is the impatience of life. They know that living things wish to act, to grow, to change. They offer only stillness. To defeat them, you must learn the strength of the mountain that withstands the storm, not just the storm itself."

Taking the lesson to heart, Ren settled back into his meditation, pushing his senses deeper than before. He listened for the cold frequency of his prisoner, but as he did, he felt… something else. It was not the sharp, sterile cold of the blight. It was a different signal, incredibly deep, slow, and resonant. It felt like the groaning of ancient trees, the shifting of deep roots, the patient strength of the earth itself. It was a current of warmth flowing through the cold.

He recoiled at first, startled. "Kasai?" he sent, alarmed.

"Do not be afraid, Little Serpent," the turtle's calming presence responded instantly. "The river is not the only thing that flows. Some voices travel through the deep earth, through the web of life that connects all things. It is slow, but it is true. Listen."

Ren focused on the new sensation. He let the slow, warm current wash over him. It was not made of words, but of feelings and images. He felt an immense, rugged strength, the memory of a furious battle, and then a profound sense of healing, like a great wound slowly closing. He saw an image of vibrant green leaves unfurling where there had once been black rot. It was Olthann. His ally was communicating with him.

The feeling of gratitude was overwhelming, a direct message from the bear's spirit to his. Then, the message shifted. The feeling of healing was tinged with a new warning. The image changed from green forest to barren, jagged peaks of reddish rock. He felt a different kind of sickness—not the wet rot of the Mire, but a dry, brittle corruption. A sickness in the stones themselves. A feeling of a fierce, proud, and lonely spirit in peril. The Iron Peaks, the message concluded, a clear confirmation of the intelligence he had stolen. The sky-screamer is proud. She does not see the poison in her own perch.

The connection faded, leaving Ren with the lingering feeling of the Weald's strength and a new, urgent warning. He opened his eyes and shared what he had learned with Kasai.

The Great Turtle was silent for a long moment. "Olthann's spirit is as true as the heartwood of his trees. If he has sensed this, then the Hollow's plan is already in motion in the Iron Peaks. They are moving faster than I had feared."

A new sense of purpose settled over Ren. His vigil was no longer just a passive waiting game. He now understood it was a two-way connection. While he listened for his enemy, he could also listen for his friends. He was a lone Guardian in a swamp, but he was not truly alone. He was part of a network of sentinels, and the ancient lines of communication, long thought dead, were stirring to life once more. He settled back into his watch, his spirit renewed, his patience solidified into a weapon. He would wait for the Hollow's whisper, but he would also listen for the rumbling voice of the mountains and the forests beyond.