As they pressed deeper into the heart of Serinwood, the trunks of the trees grew thicker, their branches almost completely blotting out the sky. The twilight created by the two light sources gave way here to a perpetual dimness. Luminescent insects drifting in the air cast a soft, bluish glow upon the forest floor. Finis tried to capture this magical atmosphere in his journal, but words fell short.
Several hours had passed since their encounter with Korgath. Torin was leading the way, crushing the earth beneath his thick dwarven boots to forge a path. Liriel glided silently among the trees, surveying their surroundings. Kael walked beside Finis, checking his map occasionally.
"This prophecy business," Finis said quietly. "How seriously should I take it?"
Kael pulled a small tobacco pouch from a pocket of his cloak and began filling his pipe. "In this world, prophecies... are strange. Sometimes they are self-fulfilling words, sometimes they are merely tales spun by old shamans. But for an orc to release a stranger because of a prophecy... that is not a common occurrence."
"Are orcs usually like that? I mean... do they believe in prophecies?"
Kael lit his pipe and blew out a plume of smoke. "Mountain orcs are deeply connected to their shamans and the spirits of their ancestors. To them, prophecies are not whispers carried on the wind, but the memory of stones. The Shattered Fang Tribe is one of the oldest orc clans in this region. If their shamans know a prophecy about you, it has an origin."
Just then, Liriel dropped silently from a tree branch to the ground. "There is a clearing ahead. And in it... there is something. You need to see it."
The group advanced cautiously. As the trees parted, a colossal stone structure rose before them. It must have been some kind of temple or monument. An obelisk, covered in moss, cracked, yet still standing tall despite the ravages of time. Its surface was carved with reliefs in an unfamiliar alphabet. The letters had an organic appearance, as if they were growing outward from within the stone itself.
"What is this?" Finis asked in awe.
Torin approached the obelisk and brushed away the moss with his hand. "An ancient tongue. Not dwarven runes, nor elvish script. This is... older. It could date back to the First Age."
Liriel ran her fingers over the reliefs. Her eyes closed. "The stone... speaks. But the language is incomprehensible. It is as if it hums a song, but the words have been forgotten."
Finis stepped closer to the obelisk. Just as he was about to touch the stone, Kael grabbed his arm. "Be careful. Ancient things sometimes react in unexpected ways."
But Finis felt an irresistible urge inside him. It was as if the stone was calling to him. He gently pushed Kael's hand away and placed his palm on the cold, mossy surface.
And for a moment, the world stopped.
Images flooded Finis's mind. The rising of mountains, the receding of seas, the growing of forests... A city, built of white stone, with towers stretching towards the sky... And then a destruction. Fire falling from the heavens, the earth splitting, screams. In the center of the city, figures with pure white hair and pale skin... They looked like him. They held light in their hands, healing wounds, trying to bring back the dead. But they failed. The city was annihilated. The white-haired figures scattered in different directions. And then everything went dark.
Finis pulled back from the stone, gasping for breath. He collapsed to his knees. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose.
"Finis!" Liriel rushed to his side immediately. "What happened?"
Finis wiped his nose with trembling hands. The blood stopped within a few seconds. Like his wounds, this too healed rapidly. "I saw... I saw things. A city. A city of white stones. And... people who looked like me."
Torin's eyes widened. "A city of white stone? Could it be... Are you speaking of the legendary Lost City of Albaris?"
Kael looked at the obelisk with concern. "Albaris was said to have existed in the First Age, the city of the Immortals. But it is said to have been utterly destroyed in the Great Cataclysm ages ago, with everyone inside perishing."
"Not everyone died," Finis said quietly. "They scattered. They went in different directions. They hid."
Liriel took Finis's arm and helped him up. "Are you... are you descended from them? Is that why you are like this? Or did that fissure connect you to the past?"
Finis shook his head. "I don't know. But this stone... it showed me something. Perhaps a warning. Or a summons."
He took out his journal and, with trembling hands, began to write down what he had seen. The white city, the destruction, the scattering figures... He recorded every detail. As he wrote, the turmoil inside him subsided slightly. It was as if the words were helping him make sense of what he had witnessed.
"We can make camp around this obelisk," Torin said. "We could cover a bit more ground before nightfall, but the lad needs rest."
Kael nodded. "You're right. Besides, these ancient stones tend to keep foul creatures away. They shy from such places."
Camp was set up. Torin lit the fire, and Liriel gathered edible plants and mushrooms from the surrounding area. Kael sat down next to Finis.
"Tell me what you saw," he said softly. "Every detail."
Finis recounted everything he had witnessed. The beauty of the white city, the horror of its destruction, the despair of the white-haired figures. Kael listened intently, occasionally drawing on his pipe.
"This is very important," he said finally. "The fall of Albaris is one of the greatest mysteries in the history of Eterra. No one knows why it was destroyed. It is only said that it existed one day and was a ruin the next. But what you saw... it was an attack. Fire falling from the sky... That suggests there was an enemy."
"Who could it have been?"
Kael shrugged. "In the First Age, when gods still walked the world, giants shaped the mountains, and dragons ruled the skies... there were many enemies. Perhaps the Immortals were fleeing from something. And you might be their last representative."
Finis looked at his hands. His pale skin, his stark white nails... Now this body had a meaning. He was not just a porter; perhaps he was the last heir of a lost race. The thought was both terrifying and strangely liberating.
That night, as they sat by the fire, Liriel hummed an old elven song. Its melody was mournful, its lyrics in a language Finis did not understand. But the emotion it conveyed was universal: loss, longing, and hope.
"What is that song about?" Finis asked.
Liriel answered, gazing into the fire. "About the children of the stars. Beings who descended from the sky to the earth, made a home here, but were forced to return to their own home one day. Some say the Immortals are not originally of this world, that they came from the stars."
Finis looked up at the sky. In the strange, twin-lit heavens of Eterra, the stars still shone. Perhaps among them lay his true home. Or perhaps his true home was here now.
He opened a new page in his journal. He wrote the title: "The Fall of Albaris and the White-Haired Folk." Beneath it, he recorded everything he had seen, every emotion he had felt. As he wrote, he thought of those who might one day read these lines. Perhaps his writings would help rediscover a lost history.
Towards dawn, it was Finis's turn to keep watch. While the others slept, he sat before the obelisk, watching the stars. Suddenly, a faint glimmer appeared on the surface of the stone. Finis rubbed his eyes, thinking he had imagined it. But the glimmer returned. This time, some of the reliefs were glowing faintly. And in that moment, Finis understood: The stone recognized him.
Before they departed the next morning, Finis touched the obelisk one last time. This time, no vision came. He only felt a warmth. A greeting, a farewell.
"When we reach Silver Harbor," Kael said, "you should visit the Tower of Knowledge there. It holds manuscripts, maps, and records dating back to the First Age. Perhaps you can learn more about Albaris and your people."
Finis nodded. "I want to learn. Who I am, where I came from, where I am going."
Liriel smiled. "That is the true spirit of a wanderer. The journey is made not only with the feet, but with curiosity."
And they continued walking deeper into Serinwood. Finis's journal filled a little more with each passing hour, the story of the Immortal Wanderer taking shape with every step. The mystery of Albaris, the fate of the white-haired folk, and Finis's place in this world... all the answers lay hidden on the road stretching out before them.