That day, the snow and wind in Northrend did not cease.
But in Tok-Aak of ZulDrak, before the unfinished shrine, the wind changed.
Gulen stood before the carving of the god, gazing at the beast hide banner emblazoned with the divine emblem.
The Obsidian Dragon's Eye now glowed faintly, the obsidian circle around the vertical pupil gradually transforming into a ring of fire.
It wasn't burning, nor was it elemental interference, but a change from a higher dimension—heatless, flameless, yet visible to the naked eye and perceptible to the soul.
"He has grown stronger again," Gulen murmured.
He wasn't the first to notice.
The entire Tok-Aak tribe's followers realized it even faster than he did.
The moment the divine fire ignited, they all felt as if someone had pressed down on the back of their necks, and an irresistible will poured into their minds.
Some knelt, some stumbled, some were filled with confusion.
And then, the shrine began to change.
The entire unfinished structure seemed to awaken from its foundation.
There were no architectural changes, but all the symbols, totems, and banners slowly began to reveal the same pattern—the Flame Ring.
The symbol of the divine fire spontaneously manifested within the works of mortals.
Meanwhile, on the distant Storm Peaks, in the temporary Obsidian Nest.
The group of Proto-Dragons also fell into a brief pause at the same moment.
Shadow Wing opened his eyes and slowly raised his head.
A circle of golden flames unfurled beneath his palm, as if an invisible chain firmly connected him to a higher-dimensional existence.
He knew what it was.
It was the Lord, responding to their existence.
And within the network of faith, all followers learned that their Lord's name had changed.
From [Shadow Dragon] to [Emberglow Dragon], or honorifically, [Scale of Primordial Flame].
The moment Obsidian ignited the divine fire, the entire network of faith in ZulDrak trembled.
There was no light, no thunder, only a vague sensation, like fire underwater, spreading quietly in the night wind.
At this moment, Skala stood on a high slope, overlooking the temporary camp below.
His divine emblem spontaneously glowed with a faint golden-red fiery mark, and his fingertips felt warm, as if someone had held his hand—not giving an order, but simply telling him: "I am still here."
"He ignited… something?" Siye whispered.
She stood at the other end of the camp, the cracked Rhunok bone charm losing its color under the divine fire's light, as the dragon-eye divine emblem on her chest faintly pulsed.
There was no thunder, no miracle, but everyone saw it.
That feeling was like a lamp, silently lighting up in the wind and snow.
Skala didn't turn around, he just raised his hand, gripped the divine emblem, and then spoke softly:
"Don't alarm the others; we'll camp here tonight."
Toka nodded and quietly made arrangements.
Gollon had already walked away, beginning his patrol.
They had been traveling for nineteen days.
The group had grown significantly.
When they departed from Tok-Aak, there were only three of them—Skala, Toka, and Gollon.
Now, the accompanying party numbered nearly thirty.
Most came from tribes they passed along the way; he took with him the strong and robust followers and believers, promising to bring their families on the return journey.
There were also a few "un-tribed ones" who voluntarily joined them on the road.
They had lost their tribes and faith for various reasons and decided to try a new path.
Among these people, some wore Obsidian's divine emblem, some carried old loa bone charms, and some wore nothing at all.
They all followed Skala, as if only by doing so could they find the courage to continue living.
They carried bows and broken shields, their eyes holding a glimmer of hope amidst their vigilance.
Skala couldn't remember how many times he had said, "We don't force anyone to believe, we just ask you to listen."
He also couldn't recall the names and totems of those tribes—they were too fragmented, many even lacking symbols, surviving only through old stories and oral memory.
But he remembered the expressions on these people's faces.
Anger and despair were the most common, but there was also bewilderment and helplessness.
He didn't preach.
He only told them the facts—
Your loa are gone.
And our Lord responds.
You don't have to convert, but you must survive.
"We're not here to proselytize," Gollon concluded, "we're here to find a place for those who can't survive."
They had already crossed a broken valley south of Gundrak and were only three days' journey from the next large tribal settlement, Italk.
That was the farthest place Skala's father had taken him to as a child, and it was also the largest town nearby.
He heard that in earlier years, Mammoth Loa was still worshipped there, but now, the totems had long since collapsed, and no one even dared to walk at night.
He didn't tell others about Italk and his childhood memories; he just stood at the edge of the snow, looking at the tattered banner fluttering in the wind, silent.
Toka stepped forward: "Are we going to preach today?"
"No," Skala shook his head, "Not tonight."
"We need to first understand the Lord's change."
He looked back at this group of fellow travelers, dressed in various ways and with mixed beliefs.
"Only then can we teach them."
—Divider—
Skala suddenly opened his eyes, his chest heaving violently, cold air filling his lungs, carrying the scent of snow and some stale rust.
The tent was pitch black, only the divine emblem on his chest radiating a faint warmth in the silence, like embers buried deep underground, warming him.
Fragments of the dream still swirled in his mind, too vivid to be a dream.
He dreamed of his father.
Not by the warm hearth in Tok-Aak, nor beneath the solemn totem pole.
But during the years his father taught him hunting skills.
His father, wearing his usual old leather armor, had his back to him, bending down to examine tracks in the snow—they were huge, distorted Mammoth hoofprints, deeply embedded in the frozen mud.
"Italk…" his father's low voice echoed in the dream, carrying a gravity Skala had never remembered him having, and a hint of an unexplainable vigilance, as if confirming a dangerous mark. "The debt here hasn't been cleared."
The Skala in the dream wanted to approach, to see his father's face clearly, to ask him what the "debt of Italk" was.
But his father's figure rapidly blurred and dissipated in the shadows, swallowed by that dark blue glow.
Immediately after, the dream abruptly shifted—he seemed to be instantly inside a huge, cold skull, surrounded by jagged, pale bone walls, standing on viscous, dark liquid that emitted a sweet, fishy smell.
There was no sound, only a suffocating sensation of being watched by countless eyes, cold and slimy, crawling up his spine.
It was this feeling of being watched that instantly jolted him awake.
He sat up, vigorously wiping his face, trying to dispel the lingering, extremely uncomfortable chill.
The warmth of tha divine emblem seemed to intensify, like an unseen hand pressing on his pounding heart, offering some solace.
"Father… Italk…" Skala murmured, chewing on these two words.