Pheonix Rising's journey had taken herself very far from lands she had ever known. Lands of rolling sands and salt waters, red rock and misted, humid jungle. Now she was in a place of rolling greens that blanketed over broken and crumbled rock of a once empire long passed. Though it was far from the north, Pheonix still found a shiver within the mountains and tripped more times then she could count on the hard, sharp rock. Even with hardened paw pads from scorched earth, they bled as she made her ascension.

Ahead were a pair of wolves, one as black as night and the other like dark storm clouds. She had seen them before. In her visions. In their out of body gathering. The pheonix was observant and followed in the exact steps as she made her way, compelled by that same hummed drum.

The skies danced with the same glowing blue light of the runes and ahead, she would be met with that same color once more, wedged into a rock face likely hidden from sight for centuries. The closest thing she could think it could be was a cervid horn. هو هنا. (It is here.) A whisper on her tongue. الأثر. (The artifact.) The dream visitor had spoken of this next step to their journey and yet, what exactly did they do with the contraption?