The journey from the Silent Peak was a blur of biting frost and relentless endurance. For a full day and night, Elian had moved like a phantom across the craggy expanse, the Mantle of the Dawn shifting its hues to hide him from the roving patrols of the Hollowed. Now, he stood at the western edge of Echo Valley, his boots anchored in the loose shale of the Smuggler’s Rift.
He looked to the east. A sudden, violent crack of blue lightning shattered the dreary grey sky, followed by a thunderous boom that rattled the stones beneath his feet.
"Right on time, old man," Elian muttered to himself, watching the distant storm of arcane energy rage.
"He is buying you time with his life, Warden," a voice echoed from the rocks, smooth and dripping with malice.
Elian’s hand flew to his hilt, his eye
