𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʏ-ꜰᴏᴜʀ

Crown of Clouds.

🌎

    MOUNT TAMALPAIS LOOMED DARK AND IMPOSING UNDER THE NIGHT SKY, its peak shrouded in swirling clouds that seemed to twist and writhe like living shadows. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine, and the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a chill that seeped into Rory’s bones. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, trying to ward off the cold as she and Luke ascended the narrow mountain trail. Their footsteps were muffled by the thick underbrush, the sound barely audible in the stillness of the night.

    The trail was steep and treacherous, winding its way up the mountainside with sharp turns and sudden drops that kept them both on edge. The path was overgrown in places, the branches of gnarled trees reaching out like skeletal hands to snag at their clothes and slow their progress.

    Every step they took was a reminder of the last time they had been here, of the quest that had gone so horribly wrong. The memories were as vivid as if they had happened yesterday—the roar of the dragon, the clash of weapons, the scent of blood and fear hanging in the air. Rory could almost see it all again, the images playing out in her mind like a twisted replay she couldn’t turn off. They had never made it this high up before; last time, they had only made it to the garden, to the place where everything had gone wrong.

    The thought of the garden made Rory’s stomach clench with a mixture of fear and regret. The place had been beautiful in its own eerie way, the golden apples glowing with a light that was both alluring and deadly. But that beauty had been nothing more than a trap, a lure that had drawn them into a deadly game they hadn’t been prepared for. She could still remember the way the dragon’s scales had glinted in the moonlight, the way its eyes had gleamed with a malevolent intelligence as it had moved to attack. And she remembered the desperation, as well as the panic, and then nothing.

    This time, though, the dragon hadn’t bothered them. They had passed by its sleeping form earlier, a massive shape curled up in the shadows near the base of the mountain. Even in sleep, the creature was terrifying, its scales glinting faintly in the darkness, its breath rumbling like distant thunder. Just passing by it had sent a shiver down Rory’s spine, bringing back the bad memories she had tried so hard to bury. But this wasn't the same situation as last time.

    As they climbed higher, the trees began to thin out, giving way to jagged rocks and loose gravel that made their footing even more precarious. The wind picked up, howling through the narrow passes and tugging at their clothes with icy fingers. It was as if the mountain itself was trying to push them back, to keep them from reaching the summit.

    With each step higher, the atmosphere grew more oppressive. The air became thinner, colder, and the once-distant roar of the wind now sounded like a chorus of mournful wails echoing through the rocky crevices. Rory’s breath came in short, labored gasps, her lungs burning from the effort. The climb was grueling, the path winding ever upward, becoming narrower and more treacherous the closer they got to the peak. The mountain seemed to be alive, shifting beneath their feet, groaning under the weight of the sky that loomed above them.

    Finally, they reached the summit. The ground leveled out into a barren plateau, there wasn’t a single blade of grass or hint of greenery. It was as if nothing dared to grow in the shadow of what lay ahead. A few feet ahead, the clouds above them churned violently, swirling in a dark, ominous vortex that dominated the sky. The clouds formed a funnel that almost touched the mountaintop but instead rested on the broad shoulders of a man.

    The sheer size of him was staggering. He was tall and imposing, his body seeming to merge with the mountain itself, as if he were an extension of the very earth beneath their feet. His skin, a deep, weathered brown, was rough and hardened like the ancient rocks that surrounded them. Each muscle in his body was defined, bulging with the strain of the unimaginable burden he bore. His dark hair, slicked back from his face, was streaked with the grime of centuries, though strands of it whipped wildly in the wind that howled around the summit. The remnants of what had once been a fine brown suit clung to his massive frame, now nothing more than rags, torn and frayed by the passage of time. The fabric fluttered in the gusts.