The first stars had begun to emerge when Avelaena reached the familiar path leading to the Loner's Rest.
Silence greeted her arrival.
Not the uneasy silence of abandoned ruins nor the oppressive stillness that lingered around places touched by the Void, but a peaceful quiet. The cottage seemed content simply to exist, its windows glowing warmly against the coming night. Soft light spilled across the garden, while wisps of enchanted flame danced within the lanterns that lined the porch.
She smiled.
Though no one answered her knock, the house welcomed her all the same.
Yule's enchantments faithfully tended to the home in its owners' absence. The hearth burned with gentle warmth, kettles quietly simmered over enchanted coals, and the scent of fresh herbs drifted from the kitchen as though the shy frost mage herself had only stepped outside for a moment.
Setting aside her travelling pack, Avelaena wandered instinctively toward the library.
Each visit found the room changed. New journals filled empty shelves. Maps were carefully rolled beside weathered tomes. Trinkets from distant lands rested beside relics whose names had long been forgotten. Every object told the story of someone who believed that knowledge, once shared, became a light for others to follow.
One object, however, drew her attention.
Resting upon a sturdy oak table was a stone no larger than her palm.
It resembled a hearthstone, yet no runes adorned its polished surface. Instead, a gentle silver radiance pulsed from within, breathing with quiet purpose like the steady beat of a living heart.
Beside it lay a roughly sketched map.
Its lines were simple and unrefined, yet strangely confident. Mountains, frozen rivers, fortresses, and winding valleys had all been committed to parchment by hands that had never seen them.
A small note in Aldren's unmistakable script rested beneath the map.
"For those who must walk where I cannot guide."
Avelaena gently lifted the stone.
The moment her fingers brushed its surface, the library disappeared.
Frigid winds howled through her thoughts.
She stood amid endless fields of snow beneath skies veiled in ash. Towering glaciers rose like frozen cathedrals while countless adventurers battled across the icy expanse against creatures born of shadow and despair.
She saw monstrous horrors whose forms shifted like nightmares wrapped in frost. She watched warriors stand shoulder to shoulder against impossible odds. She felt the bite of the cold and the unwavering resolve of those who refused to surrender.
None of these were memories seen through eyes.
They were impressions.
Feelings.
Instincts.
Aldren had surrendered her sight long ago, yet what she perceived through druidic magic was, in many ways, clearer than ordinary vision. Every memory carried not only shape, but emotion. Fear lingered where darkness gathered. Hope shone wherever companions stood together. The land itself seemed alive, whispering its story to any willing to listen.
The final vision stole Avelaena's breath.
A fortress loomed upon a mountain of black ice.
Within its walls dwelled a presence of overwhelming malice, ancient beyond reckoning. Yet it was not the fortress itself that seized her attention.
It was what lay beneath.
Hidden deep below the frozen foundations rested a prison.
Whether it held captives, relics, or something far older, she could not tell.
But as the vision lingered, a familiar chill crept into her soul.
Not the cold of winter.
The cold of memory.
The same suffocating darkness.
The same impossible presence.
The same dreadful sensation she had felt on the day Professor Aldric Stonevein gave his life so that she might escape the ancient tomb.
The vision faded.
Once again she stood within the warm embrace of the library.
The memory stone's light dimmed until only a faint glow remained.
For a long while, Avelaena neither moved nor spoke.
Could this be another prison fashioned by those who had opposed the Old Gods in ages long forgotten?
Could the same shadow that had claimed her companions now be stirring beneath the frozen land called Val?
Or...
Could someone still be alive within its depths?
Her heart dared not answer.
Yet hope, however fragile, had carried her across half of Azeroth before. It would carry her farther still.
She carefully rolled Aldren's map and gathered every journal, scroll, and weathered tome within the library that spoke of northern kingdoms, forgotten prisons, and creatures of the Void. Through the coming days she immersed herself in study, comparing forgotten legends with explorers' accounts and piecing together fragments of knowledge that others had long dismissed as myth.
Outside, the Loner's Rest remained peaceful.
Inside, a single candle burned late into each night.
Its light reflected in Avelaena's eyes as she studied.
For she had long ago made a promise to herself.
Where others saw abandoned ruins, she would seek forgotten truths.
Where others saw only darkness, she would search for the smallest glimmer of hope.
And if even the faintest clue pointed toward the fate of her mentor...
She would follow that light into the frozen heart of Val without hesitation.
