Chapter 14 | Part 4

“We can’t stay here.”

Dulint’s voice cut through the heavy silence that had followed Xandor’s explanation. “If the Beacon is broadcasting, if things are coming, we need to move. Find somewhere defensible, or find answers before they find us.”

“Where would we go?” Balin asked. “You said it broadcasts everywhere. There’s no hiding.”

“No, but there might be learning.” Xandor stood, moving to a shelf where he kept his most precious texts. “The prophecy fragments I’ve collected mention locations. Places where the Nexus system left marks. If we investigate them, we might find pieces. Or information. Or both.”

“Might.” Eldric’s voice was skeptical. “That’s a lot of travel based on might.”

“Do you have a better option?” Xandor didn’t turn around. “We can sit here and wait for whatever’s coming. Or we can move, investigate, try to understand what we’re dealing with before it overwhelms us.”

Maris spoke from her corner, voice tired. “I can’t stay here much longer anyway. The screaming gets worse the longer I’m near it. If we move, at least it’s a different kind of pain.”

“The fragments point north.” Xandor finally found what he was looking for—a map, annotated in his own cramped handwriting over years of research. “Toward Frostgard. Ancient sites there. Places connected to the barrier’s creation.”

“Frostgard.” Eldric’s voice carried weight. “That’s hostile territory. Cold. Remote. And if the Grukmar are tracking us…”

“They may be. Probably are.” Xandor spread the map on the table. “But the alternative is staying in Riverhold, where we’re already known, where the Beacon’s broadcast has been originating from for days. At least moving gives us a chance.”

Dulint studied the map in silence. Something flickered across his face, tension and uncertainty, before smoothing away. “We’ll need three days to prepare. Supplies, gear, information about the routes.”

“Three days.” Balin’s eagerness had dimmed, replaced by something harder. “And then we walk into the cold toward something we don’t understand.”

“That’s the quest.” Xandor’s voice was gentle but firm. “No one asked for it. No one wants it. But the artifact chose us, or we chose it, and now we’re bound to this path.”

“Not heroes,” Maris said bitterly. “Just people with no alternatives.”

The Beacon pulsed on the table, and for just a moment, Xandor felt its direction shift—felt it pointing north with an intensity that made his teeth ache. North, toward Frostgard. Toward ice and ancient secrets. Toward whatever the Nexus was searching for.

“Three days,” Dulint repeated. “Then we move.”

No one argued. No one agreed enthusiastically. They just accepted, because acceptance was all there was.

North, toward ice and ancient secrets, away from everything familiar.

The artifact pointed that direction like a compass with teeth.

End of Chapter 14.4 —> 15.1: The Goblin Who Counts Costs: The Wanderers