A Good Man Awakens

Chapter 30: The Mountain

The mountain loomed above us, jagged and unforgiving, its peak lost in a shroud of mist that hung low, veiling the summit like the crown of some ancient, forgotten king. Kendril led the way, his steps sure and steady, as though he'd walked this treacherous path a thousand times before. I followed closely behind, my eyes darting between the narrow trail and the sheer cliffs that rose on either side, jagged like the teeth of a hungry beast. The wind whistled through the gorge, a constant, eerie reminder of how far we were from any trace of warmth or life.

The air was cold and thin, sharp against my lungs with each breath I took. It had started with the fresh scent of damp earth and pine when we entered the mountain pass, but as we climbed higher, that smell faded, replaced by something more sterile and biting. The cold here wasn't just in the air—it clung to the rocks, seeped into the ground, and twisted around us like an unseen specter. Each gust of wind felt like the touch of icy fingers on my skin, and no matter how tightly I wrapped my cloak around me, I couldn't escape the feeling.

The rocks underfoot were slick with patches of frost, and thin drifts of snow clung to the craggy tips of the mountainside. The wind whipped at our bodies, pulling at our cloaks, as if trying to drive us back, reminding me of battles long past. My young body endured, but I could feel the cold sinking in. It wasn't the worst I had felt, not by far. In my old life, during the siege of Ivongore, the winters had been long and brutal. Stationed on the front lines, we were wet and cold for months, our hands too numb to grip our swords properly, our breath freezing in the air before us. I'd seen men, hardened by years of war, fall to the elements without so much as a battle cry. Found dead at their posts, their skin pale and frostbitten, ice hanging from their armor like grotesque ornaments adorning statues of the dead.

And yet, even then, even in that unrelenting cold, it hadn't been like this—not the same gnawing sensation that reached into the marrow of your bones, that clung to you long after you'd escaped the storm. When you live past 70 winters, that's when you know what cold is—when it's no longer just a discomfort but a constant presence. It sets into your bones like a parasite, creeping through every part of you, and when it grabs hold, it never lets go. Even on a hot summer's day, it lingers, waiting for a light breeze to fan the flames of that icy fire within. The cold from this mountain, biting as it was, paled in comparison. I did not look forward to repeating the days ahead, where this cold would be a constant companion.

The path grew steeper, and my muscles began to ache, but it was the memory of that deeper, older cold that weighed on my mind, threatening to consume me. The wind howled through the narrow gorge, and the mountain seemed to echo with it, amplifying the loneliness, the isolation. Kendril pressed on without a word, but even his movements seemed more deliberate, his steps heavier. He had to feel it too—the weight of this place, the way it clawed at you, not just physically but mentally, as if the mountain itself was testing our resolve.

"We're almost there," Kendril shouted over his shoulder, his voice barely audible above the howling wind. His cloak, frozen stiff behind him, fluttered like a flag of battle long forgotten—no longer the soft, warm fabric it once was, but a rigid sheet of metal, cold and unyielding. Every step we took upward seemed to push us deeper into the very heart of the storm, the mountain's icy breath growing harsher, slicing through whatever protection our cloaks offered. The wind howled, a banshee's wail that reverberated through the narrow pass, drowning out all other sounds.

I squinted against the wind, my vision blurred by the snow that lashed at my face like tiny shards of glass. My eyelids felt like lead, the skin around them cracking under the relentless assault of the cold. Every blink was a struggle, a painful reminder that even the smallest parts of me weren't immune to this unforgiving environment. I tried to focus, to make out what lay ahead, but all I could see was an endless expanse of rock and swirling mist.