Lucas stirred, curled up against a cold slab of stone beneath a narrow overhang they'd used for the night. The makeshift cover of his cloak did little to stop the chill that had crept into his bones.
His eyelids felt heavy, raw.
Every part of him ached—not just from the climb or the fight, but from the simple act of existing in this place.
His stomach churned emptily.
He sat up slowly, blinking through the blur, his breath fogging in front of him.
Lyss was already awake, crouched near the edge of the ledge they'd taken shelter on. The wind tugged at her coat, her eyes fixed upward—always upward—toward the next jagged ridge.
Lucas groaned as he shifted. "Tell me it was at least a few hours."
Lyss didn't glance back. "Four."
He wiped his face with a trembling hand and pushed himself up.
Every movement felt like dragging a corpse.
His own.
'I could sleep another day and still feel like shit.'
The climb, the fights, the cold, the lack of real food—it was catching up to him. He wasn't made for this. Not yet.
And yet, he was still here.
Lyss stood and adjusted her belt. "We move. The slope ahead looks manageable."
Lucas glanced at the incline she pointed to and grimaced.
To her, maybe.
To him?
It looked like hell carved in stone.
He didn't say it out loud. Just nodded, grabbed the Abyssal Reaper, and followed.
'One more climb. Then maybe the next one'll kill me.'
The mountain didn't care that Lucas could barely keep his legs moving.
The path ahead narrowed into an uneven slope that tilted sharply to the right, with a jagged drop just a few feet off the edge. Loose rocks shifted beneath his boots with every step, and his balance felt off—slightly delayed, like his body wasn't responding fast enough.
His breathing turned shallow, each inhale scraping against his dry throat.
The cold had sunk deeper into his bones overnight. The thin air didn't help.
Up ahead, Lyss moved with practiced ease—pausing at points to scan their surroundings, her boots finding footholds without hesitation.
Lucas pushed forward.
His limbs felt heavy. His eyes refused to focus properly. Twice, he stumbled, catching himself with the haft of his scythe against the stone.
The third time, he slipped.
His foot skidded out from under him, and suddenly he was sliding, rocks tumbling beneath him toward the edge.
"Shit—!"
A hand grabbed his collar just before the drop.
Lyss's grip was iron, her stance locked. She hauled him back with a grunt and threw him upright.
Lucas bent over, coughing, heart pounding.
She didn't say anything. Just stared at him.
He met her gaze, panting.
"…What?" he growled.
"You're getting slower," she said flatly.
He looked away. "Yeah, well, I'm not a mountain goat in human skin."
"You don't have to be. Just don't fall and die. It'd be inconvenient."
He laughed dryly, then winced. "Nice to know I'm still useful."
She turned and started walking again.
Lucas took a shaky breath and followed.
'I've got nothing left… but I can't stop.'
'Not in front of her, she gonna mock me'
They paused beneath a crooked stone arch that jutted out like the fractured ribs of some long-dead giant.
Lucas dropped to a knee.
His chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths, and his mouth felt like it had been filled with ash. The cold was no longer biting—it was numbing. A dull blanket wrapping around his limbs, slow and steady.
Lyss handed him the water they'd managed to collect yesterday. Just a few sips left.
He took it, muttering a halfhearted thanks, and drank carefully.
Not enough.
But it kept the dizziness at bay—for now.
He leaned back against the stone, tilting his head upward.
Nothing but violet sky.
That damn moon still loomed above them, unchanging. Its soft, pale glow made everything feel dreamlike and fake.
'Still the same sky. Same clouds. No movement. No time.'
He didn't know how long they'd been climbing.
Hours? Days?
It all blurred together now. Just mist, stone, cold… and that ever-present pressure, as if the mountain were pressing down on them, daring them to take another step.
Lucas looked over the ledge.
There was nothing below.
Only fog. Endless, rolling fog.
He couldn't even see where they'd started anymore.
It was like the mountain had erased their path the moment they moved forward.
'If we fall now, no one would even know where to look for the bones.'
Lyss stood a few meters away, arms crossed, her eyes scanning the path ahead. She wasn't panting. She wasn't shaking.
She wasn't breaking.
Lucas forced himself to stand again.
His legs screamed in protest.
'I can't let this place eat me. Not yet.'
He looked at her.
"Let's keep moving."
She nodded.
And they climbed on.
The path curved sharply again, weaving between two sheer cliff faces that rose like walls of black glass. The wind howled through the narrow corridor, cutting through their clothes like needles.
Lucas trudged behind Lyss, boots dragging, his mind foggy with exhaustion.
That's when she stopped.
He nearly bumped into her.
"What is it now?" he muttered, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.
She didn't answer at first. Just crouched near a patch of snow-dusted stone and brushed away a thin layer of dust with her glove.
There, half-buried in the mountain's skin, was a torn piece of cloth.
No—not cloth.
A banner.
Faded. Weather-worn. Frayed along the edges. The fabric had once been dyed a deep crimson, but now it looked more like dried blood. And in the center, barely visible through the decay, was a symbol.
Not one Lucas recognized.
It wasn't Imperial. Wasn't from any family crest he'd seen in passing.
Lyss examined it for a long moment, silent.
Then she stood and let the wind take it.
The banner fluttered once… then drifted off the edge of the ridge, disappearing into the mist.
Lucas frowned. "That mean anything to you?"
"No," she replied.
But her tone said otherwise.
He didn't press.
They kept moving, the silence deeper now.
Not just around them—but between them.
The ridge narrowed again, forcing them to walk single file along a ledge barely wide enough for one boot in front of the other. The air grew thinner, the wind sharper.
Then the ledge ended.
Abruptly.
Lucas stopped behind Lyss, blinking through the mist. Before them, the path fell away into a wide chasm—at least twenty meters deep, carved into the side of the mountain like a wound. It stretched far across, with sheer walls on either side and a floor shrouded in dense fog.
"Well, that's not great," he muttered.
Lyss crouched near the edge, peering down.
"No way across?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
She shook her head.
"I'll check below. Might be a slope."
Lucas blinked. "You? Thought you didn't do reckless."
"I'm not the one half-dead on my feet."
'Fair.'
But before she could move, Lucas raised a hand. "Let me."
Lyss arched a brow.
"I'll climb down. You've been doing most of the heavy lifting. I need… to feel useful."
She studied him for a second longer, then stepped back.
"Fine. Try not to die."
Lucas crouched, testing the stone edge for grip. His limbs were stiff, but the wall looked climbable—at least at first.
He started down.
It was slow. Painful. The rock was brittle in places, and once, a piece gave way beneath his boot, nearly sending him tumbling.
But he managed.
About halfway down, he spotted it.
A narrow trail—hidden against the cliff face, barely more than a crack in the mountain, winding downward in a tight zigzag.
He climbed back up, panting by the time he reached the top.
"There's a path," he gasped. "It's a bitch to get to, but it leads somewhere."
Lyss didn't wait.
She was already moving.
The path Lucas had spotted was real—but barely.
It hugged the cliff wall like a scar, sloping downward in narrow, jagged switchbacks that forced them to move sideways, one careful step at a time. Lucas had to lean against the stone constantly, his legs trembling with the effort to stay upright.
His hands were scraped raw from catching himself too many times.
The silence was broken only by their boots grinding against loose gravel and the occasional gust of wind that threatened to knock them off balance.
But eventually… they made it.
The trail leveled out near a curved overhang, where the cliff wall sank inward to reveal a shallow cave—hidden, dark, and untouched.
It wasn't deep, but it was solid. No wind, no mist.
Safe.
Lyss stepped inside first, sweeping her gaze across the space. "Clear."
Lucas followed, dragging his feet.
The air inside was still. Quiet. Warmer by comparison.
He slumped down against the wall, his body going limp.
'This… this I can work with.'
Lyss crouched near the entrance, scanning the outside one last time before stepping in fully.
"We're staying here," she said.
Lucas didn't argue.
She dropped her bag and sat beside the wall opposite him.
"We'll wait few days," she added. "You need to recover before we go higher."
Lucas wanted to joke. Wanted to complain. But the exhaustion stole the words from his mouth.
He just nodded.
His body already melting into the stone.
No danger.
No cold wind.
Just silence.
And the smallest taste of peace.