Talimaryl steps into the rune-light, his black-and-gold scales catching the summit glare. He sends calm across the ledge, then angles one talon toward the glowing path-line carved into the stone.
Talimaryl
We do not bury a waking mountain. We follow the source and learn what stirs it.
Below them, Rukalog braces on the lower shelf, still alive, still watching. Jorren turns his head toward Isaru, waiting for a sign before he moves.
Jorren
If Isaru permits it, I will stand with him. If not, I hold.
Isaru
The path-line points down into the peak.
The mountain answers with a low vibration through stone and claw. The rune-line brightens, then forks, one branch toward the ledge where Rukalog clings, the other descending into darkness.
Rukalog Coalrun
Pick now, then. Investigate, or I carry this story out myself.
Talimaryl does not flinch. He keeps his gaze on Isaru, patient as a blade held still.
Accept Talimaryl's counsel on the mountain's unrest