The thunder of stone against stone echoed through the Ironveil Mountains, a tremor that sent flocks of birds scattering from the cliffsides. Kaelor moved with the unyielding pace of an avalanche, his massive frame cutting through the fog that clung to the jagged peaks. Every step sent dust and pebbles skittering away, the grinding of his plated limbs reverberating like distant thunder. Smoky tendrils of magic drifted from the cracks in his body, curling and fading into the wind as he passed.

It had been days since he last descended from the higher cliffs, the frost of the mountain's breath still dusting his shoulders. His path, as always, was set by instinct—a pull deep within the stone core of his being, urging him to follow forgotten trails. Today, that pull brought him to the edge of a ravine, its depths concealed by swirling mist. The wind howled through it like a wounded beast, clawing at the cliffsides with icy fingers. Kaelor paused, his massive form stilling completely as if carved from the mountain itself.

A whisper of movement caught his attention. Far below, nearly swallowed by the fog, flickered the faint glow of firelight. A campfire—small, fragile, sputtering against the cold. Kaelor watched, unmoving, as shadowy figures danced around it, their forms shrouded by distance and haze. His stone fingers flexed, the grinding noise swallowed by the wind.

The memory of war rippled through his consciousness, echoes of commands and battle cries that had long since faded to dust. His gaze remained locked on the flickering light, and for reasons he could not explain, he stepped forward, sending a cascade of rocks tumbling into the ravine. He descended slowly, with purpose, the weight of his movements sending vibrations through the earth. Shadows scattered at his approach, whispers of fear carried away by the wind. But Kaelor did not stop. He moved until he stood at the edge of the campfire's light, his immense frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the flames.