The North didn't just call; it commanded. The pull in my chest felt like a harpoon hooked into my core, winding a winch located miles away beneath the Glacial Spire.
The Parting Heat
I tried to step toward the village gates, but the wood groaned. The heavy oak beams, seasoned by a century of frost, began to curl and blacken before I even touched them. I was a walking forge, and the world was too fragile to hold me.
"Stop," Kaelen choked out. He wasn't pointing the spear at me, but he was holding it like a barrier. "The snow... it's turning to glass where you stand."
I looked down. He was right. The intense thermal output of my Sub-dermal Obsidian-Alloy had flash-melted the silica in the soil, leaving a trail of jagged, translucent green glass in my wake. I wasn't just leaving footprints; I was scarring the earth permanently.
"I can't stay," I said. The choir of stars in my throat vibrated, making the air shimmer. "If I do, I'll burn this sanctuary to ash just by breathing."
The Weaver's Whisper
The pain in my core spiked, and for the first time, the "command-string" didn't just pull—it spoke. It wasn't a voice in the ears, but a geometric unfolding of thought directly into my HUD.
Direct Link Established: Origin - The Glacial Spire.
Message: "The chrysalis is cracked, my beautiful ruin. Do not linger among the kindling. Come to the hearth. Your throne is cold."
The violet light on my forearms pulsed in sync with the message. I felt my hand—the one fused to the Twin-Sun Ax—clench involuntarily. Molten slag dripped from the blade, hissing as it bored tiny, glowing holes into the glass beneath me.
The Weighing of Souls
Ignis stood a few paces back, her own violet flames looking like mere candles against the sun-bright intensity of my new chassis. She saw the way I looked toward the North. She saw the "weapon" I had become.
"You're going to her," she stated. It wasn't a question.
"She left the door open," I replied, gesturing to the slaughtered White Tide. "And she's holding the key to whatever 'man' is left inside this obsidian."
"There is no man left in there," an elder shouted from the battlements, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and pure, unadulterated terror. "Look at him! He's a demon of the Old World!"
Departure
I didn't argue. I couldn't. Every second I stood still, the Hunger grew. My systems were screaming for more essence to reach 100% stabilization. If I stayed, I would eventually look at Kaelen, or Ignis, and see not friends, but High-Density Heat Sources.
I turned toward the North. The wind, which usually bit with the cold of the tundra, felt like a pleasant breeze against my 450^{\circ}\text{C} skin.
Status Update: Journey to Spire Initiated.
Estimated Time to Total Evolution: 14 Hours.
Objective: Suppress the Hunger. Reach the Weaver.
As I crested the first ridge, I looked back one last time. The village was a small, dark thumbprint on a world of white. My trail of glass glowed in the twilight, a glowing green vein cutting through the snow—a funeral path for the man I used to be.
The Weaver is waiting, but the journey to the Spire is never easy. Would you like to encounter a "failed" obsidian experiment on the road that tests your new strength, or should we move straight to your arrival at the Spire's gates?