CHAPTER 1035: IN THE UNCHARTED MOUNTAIN

Eccar exhaled another long sigh after the link with Erend faded, the sound heavy as the mist around the camp.

He sat with his back against a damp boulder. Its surface was slick and strangely alive with faint tendrils curling from its cracks even though aside from that, it looked like any other stone.

The wet ground soaked through his trousers, but he didn’t care. His gaze lingered on the dim glow of their campfire a short distance away.

Lyrel and Caelthar sat across from one another by the flames with their quills scratching steadily over their books.

They never stopped recording, their parchment filled with notes of nearly everything that happened during the journey.

They made no attempt to hide their task of observing them, and Eccar and Krono did not care. He and Krono knew well enough that the Elves were here to document more than to aid because of the order from their king.

Still, it didn’t matter, at least not yet.

Krono was inside his tent, silent, the fabric faintly glowing now and then with shifting light.

Eccar didn’t need to ask to know what he was doing. Ever since hearing about Arty and the shadow of their unknown enemy, Krono had buried himself in his Time power, trying again and again to foresee what lay ahead.

But despite all his efforts, nothing came to him. That silence from the future unsettled him more than anything.

Eccar pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt from his palms before walking toward the fire.

He sat down heavily on a flat stone, taking a piece of bread and biting into it without thought then washing it down with the tea he had left earlier. It was now cold and bitter.

Lyrel’s eyes lifted from her book, and Caelthar’s too, though he said nothing.

Their eyes lingered on Eccar in a way different from before. There was respect in their eyes now, the kind of respect that came from recognizing strength and from realizing that the strangers they traveled with were not merely wanderers that lost.

The fire crackled softly, filling the silence.

Eccar let out another sigh, watching the flames.

Then he turned his eyes to the Elves. "You two recorded enough?" he asked quietly.

Lyrel closed her book with a faint smile. "Enough for now."

Caelthar remained silent, only giving the faintest nod.

"Good." Eccar gave a small nod and the barest smile.

But Lyrel’s curiosity pressed past her restraint. She leaned forward slightly, her voice carrying a mix of boldness and hesitation.

"May I ask... what exactly are you searching for out here?"

Eccar was quiet for a long moment, weighing the thought.

If he answered fully, he would need to tell more than he should.

Finally, he chose a path in between. "We are searching for a Dragonborn. Do you know of them?"

Both Lyrel and Caelthar stiffened. Shock flickered across their faces before they exchanged a sharp glance.

Neither spoke for a moment.

They had heard the word before, but always just as legend and whispers of ancient beings long gone. Not something to be taken seriously.

It was Lyrel who finally found her voice. "Does His Majesty know of this?"

"Of course he does," Eccar replied. "That is why he told the two of you to come with us."

They both exhaled slowly, as though they had already suspected as much. Their kind wouldn’t give them tasks without much meaning.

"That is all I can tell you for now," Eccar said, his lips curving into a faint smile. He stood and stretched before turning away. "Get some rest."

Without another word, he walked toward his tent, leaving Lyrel and Caelthar in the quiet glow of the fire, their books resting unopened in their laps and their minds heavy with thoughts.

—

The morning came with a damp chill clinging to the air. Mist curled low across the ground, swallowing the base of the trees as their camp was packed in silence.

Krono emerged from his tent, his face unreadable as always, his eyes carried the faint weight of fatigue from another sleepless night of searching the streams of time.

Lyrel and Caelthar took the lead once more, their steps careful. Their gazes sweeping across every shadow and tangle of branches.

For Elves who were supposed to know forests better than anyone, their movements held a constant tension as if each step demanded their full attention.

The strain was clear in the way Lyrel’s shoulders tightened, in the way Caelthar’s hand hovered near his dagger.

They didn’t want to linger in this mountain range. Both of them knew from their oldest records that strange creatures lurked here that no sane traveler wished to encounter.

But worse than that was the silence.

The forest gave no familiar signs, no marks they could trust or calls of wildlife to guide them, no landmarks to anchor their path.

It was like walking blind, and every branch and root felt like it was watching.

Still, their steps never faltered, for they knew they weren’t alone.

Behind them walked two figures whose strength was undeniable. For Lyrel and Caelthar, that was enough to keep dread from crawling too deep into their bones.

They had been pressing forward for an hour when Krono suddenly spoke, his voice cutting through the mist. "We need to find a tree with a red trunk."

Lyrel and Caelthar froze, turning toward him with furrowed brows.

Lyrel was the first to ask, "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Krono replied. "We need to find a tree with a red trunk. That’s where we’ll find something useful."

The two Elves exchanged a long glance, confusion flickering between them. But Krono’s words carried a weight that did not invite doubt.

Lyrel finally exhaled and nodded. "Very well. Then we’ll search."

From that moment, their movements changed.

The Elves no longer searched the forest blindly. Their eyes sharpened while scanning bark, moss, and hidden signs between roots and branches with the practiced precision only their kind could muster.

Fifteen minutes later, Caelthar raised a hand sharply. "There." he said.

Ahead of them, half-shrouded in mist, stood a tree unlike any other in the forest.

Its trunk was deep crimson, as though it had been painted with blood, its bark rough with strange grooves that pulsed faintly, almost alive.

Eccar narrowed his eyes and stepping closer first with measured caution.

—