Mt. Sensan-Ghi

Act Four - The Endless Staircase

Estavir fell out of the liquid into a long corridor made of dark marble, a mix of overlapping varying shades of greys occasionally lined and highlighted with what appeared to be chalk smears. All along the corridor, whose length felt difficult to estimate, there were lights hovering in a line making a path to follow. There was nowhere else to go but follow the corridor towards what eventually became an illuminated opening in the distance. The closer Estavir got, the more obvious the tendrils of the cool breeze became and the seeping chill encroached upon him was becoming visible.

As Estavir reached the end of the corridor he found himself exiting onto a snowy ledge. There was a fence around the ledge and it led the eye to a the left where it was clear a path had been carved into the side of the mountain. He looked down only to see mere meters of rock face before his vision was obscured entirely by clouds and mist. He leant over the edge to look up only to see that though he could tell the mountain was beginning to narrow significantly, above him, as was the case below him, was entirely obscured by clouds and mist.

The only way onwards was to follow the staircase carved into the side of the mountain. The walk was not particularly steep or taxing physically but there was no way to know how far ahead you still had to go and as Estavir discovered quickly, how far you had already walked. The carved road gave protection from the wind and snow but was the dullest sightseeing route; ahead and behind only rocky stairs that curved ever so slightly along the sides of the mountain. To one side the inner carved rock and outside a sea of white blinding chaos of snow and wind and ice.

He walked on for hours or minutes, he wasn't sure. Even counting the steps seemed futile as he'd lose count at the moments he was concentrating, because the stairway taunted him with a double length step or a weird interruption in the recurring pattern.

It is all very surreal, he thought as he stopped for a moment after what felt like numerous hours. Carried by the wind in that instance were the sounds of grunting and grumbling. The wind and chill made it impossible to make an estimated guess at how far ahead the noise was coming from, which made Estavir curious but weary.

He went on towards the source of the noise, finding against all odds: an old man slowly making his way up the stairs, resting his weight against the rock wall with one hand and a walking stick in the other. Estavir continued to walk toward the old man until the old man noticed him. The old man kept to himself, showed no interest in him at all and grumbling on slowly. Estavir made no eye contact and walked right past him.

The grunting and grumbling became distant slowly until finally it disappeared as he walked ever onward.

It could have been another minute or an hour later, though he was certain it felt more like hours, when again a grunting noise could be heard an undefinable distance ahead. He walked ahead only to find, in the distance, a familiar figure hunched against the wall holding a walking stick, slowly etching on along the staircase.

He made haste past the old man without making contact once more. He was determined to keep up a high tempo until he could hear no more grunting.

He walked on for what seemed like an eternity without meeting the old man again. At least that was how it felt to him at the time as it was impossible to judge time here; the sky remained a pale grey with low but consistent luminosity and the snowy gales flurrying in torrents continued to make it impossible to see more than a few meters in any direction.

He felt a sudden resurgence of fatigue, all his limbs were becoming heavy and his leg became rather inflexible.

Is the maze demanding its toll right now, of all times? Was going through his mind so vividly that for the first time since he started climbing the stairs he was becoming aware of the cold. His tempo slowed from a steady walk to a slow crawl requiring him to walk step by step, hindered by the phantom stab wounds he had completely forgotten until this moment. His tempo slowed even more as he began needing to support his weight against the inner wall with his hand, etching on step by step. He felt himself age tremendously and with his body no longer able to support its own weight, he was going to fall.