Goro had placed Rhys carefully against a thick, reddish-brown tree trunk at the pathway's edge. The boy's body slumped lifelessly against the rough bark, black tendrils emanating from his mark having now crept beyond his collarbone, advancing inexorably toward his jaw. Each dark line pulsed with unnatural heat, causing the surrounding skin to redden and glow ever so slightly. Even unconscious, Rhys's face twisted occasionally in pain.
A few dozen metres away, Silas was pacing back and forth at the mountain's base, just beyond the jagged threshold where stone gave way to snow. His gaze was fixed on the wall of white devouring the horizon. The nobleman's worn leather shoes traced an anxious path across the frozen ground, crunching rhythmically against loose stone and ice. Every few moments, he would pause, squint into the blinding expanse, and resume his restless circuit.
The tundra stretched before him as though reality had been erased and rewritten in frost. Snow spiralled in languid currents, occasionally coalescing into brief, phantom shapes before dissolving back into the white void.
The border between the calm slope and the frozen wasteland defied natural law, as if some primordial entity had plucked this mountain from elsewhere and deposited smack dab in the middle of desolation. The division was too abrupt, too precise, a line drawn by something that commanded the elements themselves.
Silas rubbed his chapped hands together, blowing into them for warmth as memories flooded his mind
He remembered his arrival at the prison—not by conventional road or path, but through the Obsidian Vein—an ancient transport corridor engineered by the Empire. A direct passage of folded space, bound and maintained through Eshe-charged obelisks and ritual anchors. The journey had been instantaneous yet disorienting; his body had felt stretched across impossible distances before snapping back together at the destination. Nobility and high-ranking guards utilized it to traverse vast distances instantaneously, bypassing the tundra entirely.
The system had been established centuries earlier, a collaboration with Eshe users, when they still commanded resources vast enough to bend reality itself. Blood and bone had been sacrificed in quantities too horrific to record in official histories.
Silas knew this because his own ancestors had overseen some of those rituals, their wealth and position built upon foundations of suffering.
But that gate had been high atop the prison's central tower.
And after the chaos they left behind; after the Marauders tore through the ranks, and the structure collapsed in on itself; Silas doubted any of those anchors still functioned. Even if they did, what was waiting for them on the other side were ranks upon ranks of guards that would tear them to pieces as soon as they peek through.
A rustling sound coming from his right pulled him away from his thoughts. He turned his head to see a massive shadow unfurling from the thicket of trees.
Goro returned from inspecting the threshold without a word, the snow clinging to his bare arms like ash. He moved with quiet purpose, his massive silhouette momentarily dissolving into the wind behind him before reappearing near Silas.
"There really is no way through," he said simply, jerking his chin toward the blizzard.
Silas didn't answer at first. His eyes remained fixed on the frozen frontier, shoulders tight with the weight of too many dead ends.
"I warned you."
"I had to at least confirm with my own eyes."
The giant trudged over to a small pile of rocks and sat down with a heavy thud. He let out a low grumble and said:
"I couldn't even see five metres ahead."
Silas exhaled sharply and turned to face him. "What if we try, anyway?"
Without thinking, Goro immediately responded:
"We die. Slowly, or all at once."
Behind them, Rhys let out a low, feverish sound. Half a word, half a groan. Steam rose from his skin in thin spirals, curling like incense smoke into the colder air. His head lolled against the tree, eyes fluttering beneath closed lids. He hadn't spoken again since collapsing.
Silas's jaw tightened. "If we stay here too long, he'll die anyway. And then we'll follow."
Goro said nothing for a moment. His gaze shifted toward the sky, where the clouds above the mountain remained untouched by storm. The unnatural division between the mountain weather and the tundra's eternal blizzard extended even to the heavens above.
What could they even do about Rhys' condition, anyway?
"Or…" Silas said before pausing, "You could brave the storm by yourself. A dying boy and an old man will surely hold you back."
Goro let Silas say his piece in silence. Afterward, he rose and approached the disgraced nobleman, towering over him like a human avalanche. His shadow fell across Silas entirely, casting him in darkness:
"It's not in your nature to jest, Your Gra—Silas. Are you perchance trying to get rid of me?"
Silas smiled wryly. "I'm simply stating a fact. We'll be relying on your strength against whatever steps out of those prison gates."
"Then so be it."
The wind howled, carrying Goro's declaration throughout the jagged peaks. It seemed, for a moment, that the very mountain acknowledged his decision, the wind falling briefly silent before resuming with diminished force. Both men maintained silence for several heartbeats:
"We camp," Goro announced at last. "For tonight."
Silas looked at him, surprised. "You think we'll find shelter up here?"
"No," Goro replied. "But we won't freeze to death at least. Let's save that fate for tomorrow,"
He turned away and knelt beside Rhys, lifting him with careful precision. The boy's head fell against the giant's chest, his body radiating heat through Goro's thin prison garments. Goro winced slightly at the contact but made no complaint. The boy felt noticeably lighter than before, as if whatever consumed him from within was burning away substance as well as strength.
"We move away from the main path," Goro continued. "Find cover. Anything that keeps us out of sight."
Silas hesitated, then nodded. "Near the rivulet," he said. "There were ridges nearby. It might give us some wind cover."
"Then we backtrack," Goro rumbled, already walking ahead.
Silas cast one last glance toward the blizzard, its wall of white humming with a distant, unseen power. Then he turned his back on it and followed Goro up the slope.
The journey back was slow and silent. Rhys murmured in his delirium, limbs twitching now and then, but the words never made sense. Silas kept close, eyes flicking across the rock and trees for signs of movement. Nothing yet. But they weren't the only things that had escaped that prison.
By the time they reached the rivulet, the light had thinned to a dusky silver. The mountain's upper edge glowed faintly, catching the last rays of a sun that no longer warmed.
They found a small hollow between two splintered boulders, partly hidden by a dense thicket of trees. It wasn't much, but it would break the wind.
Goro set Rhys down gently on a bed of pine needles and frost. Silas crouched beside him, brushing melting snow from the boy's brow.
The steam rose like smoke from a dying pyre.
Silas sat back on his heels, wiping his hand against his damp tunic. Rhys' breaths came in shallow, uneven spurts, his skin flushed with an unnatural heat. The mark writhed faintly beneath the surface now, like ink suspended in boiling water.
Then—
Crack!
Silas turned his head slightly, narrowing his eyes toward the treeline. He turned his head towards Goro and signalled for him to stay with Rhys.
Rising cautiously, he navigated past the boulders and shattered trees, ascending a small ridge above their shelter. Pine needles cushioned his steps as he crouched low, using the growing darkness as cover. The last light painted the mountaintop in crimson and gold, but here among the trees, twilight already ruled.
He reached the ridgeline and peered carefully over its edge, eyes straining against the gloom.
They emerged in pieces, at first. Hulking silhouettes dragging twisted limbs across the stone. Some on all fours, others shambling upright, their bodies malformed and fused with streaks of black magic. Long arms, bone-bared ribs, warped masks of flesh.
Two of them were massive, easily thrice the height of a man, and wide enough to crack trees just by brushing past them. Their gait was heavy and sure. Their chests heaved in rhythm, as if inhaling his fear.
Behind them, the forest writhed.
More crawled into view, but they were much smaller. Quick-limbed things with spines that curled unnaturally, crawling over one another like insects spilling from a ruptured nest.
Dozens.
Maybe even a hundred.
One of the giants paused, turning slowly in Silas's direction. Its face was a ruin of flesh, one eye vastly larger than the other, its mouth stretched horizontally across the width of its head. It drew a tremendous breath, chest expanding like bellows.
Silas's breath caught in his throat. He pressed himself lower against the ground, willing his heartbeat to quiet.
He retreated from the ledge, leather clogs scraping softly against rock. Small pebbles skittered down the incline, each tiny sound magnified in his ears. He froze, listening for any change in the creatures' movements.
"Gods…" he whispered, barely audible. His heart thundered, but he maintained silent breathing. He needed to warn Goro immediately. Their small hollow suddenly seemed terribly exposed.
The wind surged once more.
But it wasn't cold. It was dry.
And it carried the stench of blood and iron.