Mogu and Shal'falah abandoned the dark shelter of the cavern, exposing themselves beneath a pale, frosty blue sky that promised a long and bitterly cold journey. The chilled air whipped at their faces as they pressed forward over rocky slopes, icy plains, and unstable terrain.
Appropriating the carcass their pack had devoured days earlier, Mogu wore the skin of a Snow Bear, the skull's hide covering the top of his head, presenting a ferocious face of a wild bear above his own. The rest of the leather covered his body almost completely, with only a narrow gap remaining from his neck to his groin. His arms and legs were covered by the hide from the paws. It fit him well.
Beside him, Shal'falah, the Last Guardian of the World, with his silver coat, broke the silence of the snowy landscape with his voice, a guttural and resonant whisper:
— The winter deepens, Mogu. — he said, his words condensing into small clouds of vapor. — Our destiny calls us south, where the land still breathes warmth. We must hasten our march toward salvation.
Mogu nodded without taking his gaze from the icy horizon.
The slope was treacherous, cloaked in a thin and deceptive layer of ice, but they pressed onward, driven by the urgency of an ancient prophecy known as the eternal winter. The feline, with his guardian wisdom, was the guide; Mogu, the reborn blood of fire.
Together, they were the last of a lineage struggling for the existence of their origins.
— The path we travel, Bearer, is not made only of glaciers and rocks. — Shal began. — There is a place my ancestors called "The Cradle of Ashes," the Oltai Volcano. It is a crater, a point where the earth's blood once bubbled with fury and life. It was there that the first Guardians learned to master the flame.
Mogu listened carefully, feeling the contrast between his companion's words and the wind lashing his skin.
— If the place is so powerful, why didn't we go there sooner? — Mogu questioned, adjusting his pace to the feline's elegance. — Why let the cold reach this point?
— Because the glacier buried everything, and I believe you are the only one who can change that. — he responded melancholically. — The ancestors of the Silver-Claws believed there was a heart in the earth, a heart aflame, but no one ever saw it. They said volcanoes were the gateway to the world's heart.
Mogu looked at his own hands, which still held the tingling from the previous night.
— Volcanoes? — he was confused. — I didn't ask for this gift, Shal'falah. It cost me my family. It made me a monster in the eyes of those I loved.
— Power rarely asks permission to blossom — the feline mused, leaping over a fissure. — And leadership is often a lonely path. Your brothers fear what they don't understand. But what you call a curse is the only reason they still breathe.
After hours of an exhausting climb, they reached the top of a high plateau.
Shal'falah paused, but there was no roar of triumph. Before them, where there should have been a basin of black earth and sulphurous vapors, stretched only a plain of massive, smooth, and unforgiving ice. The crater had been completely buried.
— Winter vanquished even the volcano... — Shal'falah hissed, his ears lowered in defeat.
— Is this the place? — Mogu asked, approaching the edge of the frozen basin.
— It was — the guardian rebutted. — Look at this, Mogu. It's tons of ice accumulated over centuries. I hope there is a way to melt the ice and revive the heart.
The feline stepped back, discouragement tensing his paws.
Mogu did not move.
Beneath the translucent layer, he sensed a pulsation, an attraction that throbbed with the heat dwelling in his own chest. It was as if the mountain was holding its breath.
— It's not dead, Shal'falah — Mogu whispered, scrutinizing the bottom of the ice. — It's just waiting...
— Don't be foolish — the feline countered. — Nature has its limits.
— And what are mine? — Mogu retorted, turning to him. — If I truly am the summer bearer, there must be something I can do.
Mogu took a step forward and knelt on the hardened surface of ice.
He pressed his hands against the semi-transparent layer. There was only thermal shock, but then he closed his eyes and sought the internal ember, the one his pack had feared and the feline revered.
He projected with all his will, transforming his sorrow and his hope into pure energy.
And nothing happened; the glacier remained intact.
— I knew The Cradle of Ashes would be covered by the glacier; I just didn't imagine it would be this way.
The ape returned to the edge of the frozen crater and said:
— It was a terrible idea. If it worked, if my hands burned the ice, it would create a lake that would drown me.
— I'm curious how little time it took for you to improve your speech, more than the others in your group, summer bearer. You act as if you know the elements as nature knows them.
Upon hearing this, Mogu had an idea.
— Wait! What if I warm you up?
Shal frowned, seeming to growl at Mogu.
— What do you mean?
— Let me touch you.
An amber glow began to radiate from Mogu's palms when he placed his hands on Shal's flank, infiltrating the fur and agitating it, allowing the feline to experience the magnification of the fire dwelling within him.
— Now I understand your idea, bearer.
Strange movements occurred in Shal'falah, as if he were about to vomit something. With that, a much larger and more potent flame, in a way Mogu had never seen, escaped his mouth. This created fissures in the ice like roots of light, and a deafening crack boomed from the ice layer, a groan coming from the earth's bowels.
The ice yielded, liquefying at a supernatural speed. Thick vapors rose to the sky, creating a white curtain that enveloped both of them. The seemingly indestructible glacier crumbled in sequence, revealing the black edges and volcanic rocks that began to breathe again.
In a few minutes, what was an icy desert transformed into a vast lagoon of steaming, clear thermal waters, encircling the peak that now emerged like a stone island. The melted ice filled the depression, creating an oasis, and in the center, the "mouth" of the Cradle of Ashes, the ancient volcano, became visible.
Shal'falah observed the scene, astonished. The warm water lapped at his paws, and the steam warmed his coat. He looked at Mogu, who remained kneeling, panting, with steam rising from his shoulders as if he himself were a living forge.
— You didn't just find the fire, Mogu — the feline said, his voice imbued with a new and clear respect. — You gave it back to the world. I've never seen anything like it. You're not just using the power... you are commanding life.
Mogu lifted his gaze to the lagoon he had just created. The sun's reflection on the warm water was the first vibrant thing he had seen in a long time.
— This will be our landmark — Mogu declared, his voice firm despite the effort. — If the pack is alive, they will see this column of mist tearing the sky. They will know that the ice is no longer the absolute master of this place. And if they want to survive, they will have to come to the fire.
— And if they come with fear, Mogu? — Shal asked. — What will you do? We are too far from them.
Mogu stood up, watching the steam rise like a prayer.
— Then I will teach them that fear is like ice: it only exists as long as there is not enough heat to transform it into something new.
— Despite all my failure, Mogu, I can see hope on the horizon!