At the feet of the "Whispering Mountains," the horses stopped moving. They were not merely tired; they were terrified. The mountains rose before them like massive fangs of black granite, piercing the golden ash mist as if refusing to bow to the light of the "Covenant Guardians." Here, the silence was not absolute as in the forest; instead, there was a constant "whisper"—sounds like shattering glass or wind weeping inside a narrow tunnel, sounds not heard by the ear but reverberating in the very marrow of the bones.
Alaric dismounted his steed. Every joint in his body emitted a stony grating sound. He looked at the high peaks covered in black snow and spoke in a tone steeped in foreboding:
"These mountains are not lifeless, Elara… They are a graveyard for the ideas the Ancients were afraid to utter. The Stolen Crown does not hide at the mountain's peak, but within the 'Hollow of Oblivion' in its bowels. We must walk; the horses will not follow us to a place devoid of the spark of life."
The group began their ascent. The path was so narrow that Kalgar's shoulder scraped against rocks that pulsed with a faint warmth. With every step upward, the whispering grew clearer. It was not just wind, but particles of ancient memories—words in dead languages speaking of the "Great Fall" and the "First Betrayal."
Suddenly, Elara stopped. An intense cold pierced through her blue sash. She looked at the side rocks and saw something that made her heart leap. There were human faces "carved" into the stone, but not by an artist's hand. The faces emerged from the rock with terrified expressions—mouths open in eternal screams and eyes shut forever.
Azrael spoke in a trembling voice, touching one of the faces:
"These are not statues… These are the seekers who came here centuries before us. The mountain did not kill them; it 'absorbed' them. Whoever weakens in their certainty here becomes part of the landscape. Alaric… his tattoo is reacting to them, look!"
The stone tattoo on Alaric's neck was extending like black roots toward the surrounding rocks, as if the mountain were trying to "recognize" its new owner. Alaric clenched his fist so hard the stony skin cracked, and he shouted in a hoarse voice:
"Do not look at the faces! Focus on your steps! The mountain feeds on curiosity and regret."
After hours of grueling climbing, they reached the opening of a vast cave from which emanated a faint argentine purple light, the color of his old tattoo. At the cave's entrance, they found no horned beast or dragon, but an old man sitting on a throne of bones, wearing a tattered robe of raven feathers, holding a shattered mirror in his hand.
This was the "Echo Warden," the entity who had inhabited the mountain since the exile of the "First Ash King."
The Warden slowly raised his head. He had no eyes; instead, his sockets were filled with fine golden sand that constantly trickled down. He spoke in a voice as quiet as creeping ants:
"I have smelled Merlock's scent in your veins, young one… and I have smelled the scent of burning light in our sky. You have come seeking the crown? The crown is heavy, not by its weight, but by the sins required to wear it. To pass through this door, you must offer the 'Sacrifice of Certainty.'"
Kalgar stepped forward, drawing his broken sword:
"We have offered enough sacrifices! Our men's blood has stained the swamps, and our memories were stolen in the caves of masks. Step aside, old man!"
The Warden laughed a dry laugh, like the sound of brittle wood breaking:
"Blood is cheap here… and memories are merely fuel for the whispers. The sacrifice I ask for is a 'single question.' I will give you the shattered mirror. If you see your true face within it, unadorned by sovereignty or ash, and remain steadfast… you shall pass. But if your heart breaks before what you see… you will become a new face added to the walls of this mountain."
Alaric turned to Elara. Fear gnawed at his guts. He knew his depths were dark, that he had committed unforgivable atrocities under the duress of the curse. But he also knew that the "Covenant Guardians" outside were drawing near, and that the world needed a monster to deter angels.
Alaric took the shattered mirror in his stony hands. At first, he saw nothing but mist. Then the mist began to clear, revealing Alaric slaughtering innocents in Leonis, then screaming over his father's corpse, then Elara weeping behind him. The mirror showed him "naked truth" stripped of all justification.
The tattoo began crawling with terrifying speed toward Alaric's eyes, and his joints began to stiffen as if turning to granite. Elara screamed:
"Alaric! Do not look at yesterday! Look at now! You are not what you did; you are what you are doing now!"
In that moment, Alaric did something unexpected. He did not close his eyes, nor did he smash the mirror. He "kissed" it. He touched the broken glass with his petrifying lips and spoke in a strangely calm voice:
"I am the monster that pain created, and I am the savior that remorse will burn. I accept all that I have done, and I will not flee from my punishment… but not today."
The tattoo's advance stopped instantly. The stone receded slightly from his skin, and a wave of argentine purple light burst from the shattered mirror, opening a gateway at the cave's depths. The Echo Warden stepped aside. The golden sand fell profusely from his sockets, and he spoke in a tone resembling respect:
"Certainty in guilt is the strongest kind of certainty. Enter, Ash King… the crown awaits whoever dares to bear it. But remember… once it touches your brow, you will never be human again, nor will you be a monster… you will become the 'Void.'"
Alaric, Elara, and Kalgar entered the mountain's depths, leaving behind the old man and the whispers, heading toward the hall of the "Stolen Crown," where a secret awaited that would change the course of the war against the Covenant Guardians forever.