As the group stepped out of the crystalline labyrinth, a gust of wind howled across the jagged cliffs. Before them loomed the Whispering Mountain — an ancient floating monolith suspended above a bottomless canyon, tethered by ethereal chains of light. Atop it was the Temple of Winds, said to be where the first Skywalkers communed with forgotten gods.
"According to the memory shard," Lysara said, holding the glowing crystal to her chest, "Elyndor's seal lies beyond the Temple. But the path is guarded by echoes of the wind."
Kael narrowed his eyes at the shifting air currents. "Not just wind. I hear voices."
The wind whispered fragments of thoughts — doubts, fears, and secrets. Each gust carried a voice from their past.
Riven paused, fists clenched. "They're trying to tear us apart from the inside."
The only way up was through a series of floating platforms, each appearing and vanishing in rhythm with the heartbeat of the mountain itself. Time and movement had to be precise — hesitation meant falling into the void.
As they ascended, the air grew thinner and the whispers louder. Illusions of loved ones lost, of battles failed, pressed in on their minds. Seraphine nearly stumbled when a wind-wraith took the form of her brother, lost in the Siege of Galdor.
Lysara reached out and steadied her. "He's not real. But you are."
Above, the Temple of Winds awaited — an ancient structure of sky-forged stone and glowing runes, half-shrouded in cloud. As they crossed the threshold, the air stilled. Silence.
Then a single word echoed, not from the wind, but from the very stone itself:
"Unseal."
The runes ignited. A hidden door opened in the temple floor, leading downward — not upward.
"To go higher," Kael said, "we must go deeper."
They descended into darkness… where the forgotten god Elyndor waited.