The journey east toward the Ashen Valleys was far worse than Eryndor expected. The mountains grew colder with every passing day, and the weather felt almost unnatural, as if the heavens themselves were trying to slow him down. Snowstorms swallowed entire paths without warning, freezing winds cut through his robes like blades, and the nights became so cold that even cultivators would struggle to sleep without spiritual energy protecting their bodies. Yet Eryndor could barely use his cultivation because of the damaged seal on his chest. Every time he pushed too much power through his body, the cracks spread wider, and the thing sleeping inside him stirred restlessly. Days passed in silence, exhaustion slowly building inside him while hunger and cold followed him like shadows. Sometimes he wondered if Kael had sent him toward salvation… or simply toward another grave. Still, he continued walking through the frozen wilderness alone, his footsteps disappearing beneath endless snow while dark clouds covered the sky above him like a bad omen refusing to leave.
Everything changed near the Frostwater River. After surviving three days of brutal storms, Eryndor finally found the sound of running water cutting through the silence of the mountains. He approached cautiously, expecting danger, but instead he froze in complete confusion the moment he reached the riverbank. Standing waist-deep in the freezing water was a strange young man with long silver-black hair desperately trying to wash a torn robe while shivering violently. The problem was… he had absolutely nothing else on. The boy turned at the exact moment Eryndor arrived, their eyes meeting in complete silence for several painful seconds before the stranger suddenly yelled, "HEY! What kinda psycho sneaks up on naked people in the middle of nowhere?!" Eryndor immediately looked away with a rare expression of genuine confusion while the boy scrambled through the freezing river trying to grab the wet robe floating beside him. "I wasn't sneaking," Eryndor replied flatly. "You're literally bathing in an open river." The stranger pointed at him dramatically despite half freezing to death. "That ain't the point, man!" For the first time in weeks, something dangerously close to normal human interaction entered Eryndor's life.
The strange boy introduced himself as Wizyan, though Eryndor instantly noticed the hesitation before he said the name, as if it were practiced rather than real. Wizyan dressed oddly compared to most cultivators—layered robes, jewelry, soft fabrics, and mannerisms so graceful that many people would mistake him for a girl at first glance. Yet despite his dramatic personality and constant complaints about the cold, there was something unusual about him. His movements were too precise. Too balanced. Even the way he hid his spiritual energy felt deliberate. Eryndor noticed it immediately but chose not to question it. Over the next few days, the two traveled together through the brutal mountain terrain, surviving freezing nights inside abandoned caves while snowstorms shook the cliffs around them. Wizyan complained almost nonstop about everything—the weather, the food, Eryndor's personality, and especially the fact that Eryndor barely spoke—but somehow his constant talking made the harsh journey feel less empty. Beneath the joking attitude, however, Eryndor occasionally caught glimpses of something else hidden inside Wizyan's eyes: fear. Not ordinary fear of death, but fear of being recognized.
One night, while the wind screamed outside their cave hard enough to shake the mountain walls, Wizyan quietly asked Eryndor where he was truly going. For several moments, only the fire answered between them before Eryndor finally spoke the name "Aluki." The atmosphere changed instantly. Wizyan's playful expression disappeared for the first time since they met, replaced by visible shock. "You're going to him?" he asked quietly. Eryndor nodded once. Wizyan stared into the fire silently after that, his face unreadable beneath the flickering light. Neither of them noticed the seal beneath Eryndor's chest pulsing faintly beneath his robes, reacting strangely to Wizyan's presence, nor did Eryndor realize that the boy sitting across from him was hiding far more than a fake name. Outside, the storm continued raging through the mountains, but somewhere deep in the darkness ahead, fate had already begun pulling both of them toward something neither fully understood yet.