Yorri finally mutters a faint "there you are," as he finally finds whatever it is he was looking for. With a grunt he reveals something that simple logic tells you should
not be able to fit back there. Considerations of space and volume fall to the wayside however, because your teacher just pulled out
Gormwand from behind him.
Bond, a hand outstretched, union.
The Staff of Thungni hidden away with the casualness of someone stowing away
chuf beneath his helmet.
A sum greater than their individual parts, a greater view, a greater connection.
When Yorri has it fully revealed you can't help but catch how the Runes on both the Staff and
Karaz-Kazak-Rhun pulse once before returning to their normal glow.
2 of 3, the distant partner in the west.
"Move! Bah, damn student forcing my damn hand with his nonsense," he grumbles, walking past you and towards the Anvil. The Winds, so thick as to be visible like they were at this place two centuries ago, actually parting around him as Yorri's Stilling Field asserts itself.
You move to follow, spotting your heir waiting at the door. Before your own Stilling Field engulfs it you see how her's stands in the face of the Winds billowing out from the Anvil. So close to the Anvil, her Field barely registers as an obstacle to the Winds, noticeable only by the way the strands of magic organize themselves in its radius before returning to their usual chaos as they pass beyond its edge. Your armour is glowing, but not the blinding white you recall it once shimmering with during Skarrenbakraz's forging. A good sign, you hope.
He watches his student stop in front of his grandstudent.
Karstah stands stoically, squinting but not closing her eyes. Even if her soul wasn't betraying her you can read her well enough to know what goes through that head of hers. Worry. Fear. Hope.
Fingers curl as his mind superimposes another pair over them—
How you've failed her you think, and how well she's done in spite of it
. A legend in her own making, and a Master now with students of her own.
Hands fall.
"Karstah," you stop, then get over yourself, "my child."
—but the old panic is buried under iron will,crushing shame, and glowing pride.
Live. Grow. Be more than I could ever be.
He makes the oath easily, for what little his word is worth. He swears that at least one of them is leaving this chamber.
"You've proven yourself worthy long ago," you finally say, voice firmer than the Adamant adorning you.
Of my legacy, of my pride, of my love, of my hope.
The question of who that one is doesn't need to be clarified.
She nods and you walk past the threshold of the containment chamber where Master Yorri waits.
