A year passed—or what felt like a year, though Abchiti had learned to trust the land's sense of time more than any mechanical measurement. During that year, he traveled throughout the Rif, seeking out those who had experienced partial awakenings and helping them understand the gifts they carried. Some, like Dris, accepted his guidance and began the long process of learning to use their abilities properly. Others refused, and a few had to be stopped more decisively, their powers sealed until they could develop the wisdom to wield them responsibly.
With each encounter, Abchiti grew stronger and more confident. The pendant had become an extension of his will, its power merging seamlessly with his own until he could barely tell where one ended and the other began. The land recognized him now as a true Keeper, opening pathways and sharing secrets that had been hidden for generations.
But even as his abilities expanded, so did his awareness of what approached from the east. The barriers containing Azrhad continued to weaken, and with each passing month, the pressure against those barriers grew stronger. Sometimes, in his dreams, Abchiti could feel the ancient Imzurien's awareness brushing against his own—not directly, for the wards still held, but like a scent carried on wind from a distant fire.
He returned to Tasaft's valley for consultation, finding the ancient woman unchanged by the passage of time. She listened to his reports with an expression that grew increasingly grave.
"You have done well," she said when he finished. "Better than I had hoped. The network of partial awakenings you have created will be valuable in what is to come. But the time for preparation is ending. The final wards are failing."
"How long?" Abchiti asked, though he was not sure he wanted to know the answer.
"Months. Perhaps less. Azrhad has been gathering his strength for millennia, and when he breaks free, he will not waste time on preliminaries. He will move quickly to reestablish his dominion over the land."
"What can I do? How can I stop him?"
Tasaft was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of ages. "You cannot stop him—not alone, and perhaps not at all. What was done to bind him required the combined power of all the remaining Imzurien, and that power no longer exists in the world. The best you can hope for is to delay him, to buy time for another solution to be found."
"Then what was the point of all this?" Abchiti demanded, frustration and fear breaking through his carefully maintained composure. "Why train me, why give me this power, if I cannot do what needs to be done?"
"Because delaying him matters," Tasaft replied. "Because the world you know, the people you love, deserve whatever protection can be provided. Because sometimes the purpose of a Keeper is not to win, but to stand. To hold the line when all seems lost. To believe in the possibility of victory even when victory seems impossible."
She placed a withered hand on his arm. "There are forces at work beyond even Azrhad's understanding. Prophecies older than his imprisonment speak of a time when the balance will shift, when new power will rise to replace what has been lost. You may not be the one who defeats him, Abchiti. But you may be the one who makes that defeat possible."
The words were cold comfort, but Abchiti accepted them. He had not chosen this path because it was easy or because it promised success. He had chosen it because it was his to walk, and because the alternative—standing aside while darkness consumed everything he loved—was unthinkable.