Ethan's condition grew worse with every passing day. His fever waxed and waned like a tide, his breaths shallow and uneven. Ann did what she could—fresh cloths for the sweat on his brow, broths that went untouched, whispered encouragement that fell against his restless dreams. Yet no matter her efforts, Ethan drifted further from the world of the living, slipping like sand through her fingers.
Mino lingered nearby, haunted and restless. He had already scoured the valley for remedies—roots, powders, concoctions—but nothing slowed the decline. At last, on a grey morning heavy with mist, he stood before Ann with a new fire in his eyes.
"I think I know what can save him," Mino said, voice low, almost conspiratorial.
Ann glanced up, startled by the conviction threading his words. "What is it?"
"The mountain," Mino said simply. "There are herbs that grow only on its heights—half-legendary, whispered about in old hunters' tales. They say the leaves can purge fevers, mend blood, even pull a man back from the brink. If anything can help Ethan, it's them."
Ann blinked. "You're going to climb the mountain?"
Mino nodded once. His jaw was set in that stubborn, immovable way she had come to recognize. "I have to try. I can't stand here and do nothing while he suffers."
Something swelled in Ann's chest—a surge of admiration mixed with fear. She knew what it meant: the mountain was treacherous, more a trial than a path. Few ever ventured high, fewer still returned. And yet Mino spoke of it like a vow.
"Then I'm coming with you," she said.
His head jerked up. "What?"
"I'm not letting you march into danger alone," Ann replied, folding her arms. "Besides, I've always wanted to see what's up there. Maybe the mountain has been waiting for me too."
Mino blinked, visibly torn between exasperation and gratitude. "Ann, this isn't a sightseeing trip. The slopes are steep, the air thin. It's—"
"Dangerous?" She arched a brow. "Yes, I gathered. But I've already lived through assassins, ambushes, and your cooking. I'll manage."
That coaxed a reluctant laugh from him, the tension in his shoulders loosening a fraction. "You're impossible."
"Good," she said with a grin. "That means you can't stop me."
Mino sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, but she caught the flicker of relief beneath his weariness. Perhaps he didn't want to climb alone after all.
"Very well," he murmured. "But stay close. The mountain doesn't forgive recklessness."
The climb began at dawn. Mist curled low among the pines, silvering the world in secrecy. The air thinned as they ascended, sharp and bracing in their lungs. Ann found her breath hitching more quickly than expected, yet stubborn pride kept her pace steady beside him.
"Tell me again why I agreed to this?" she muttered between breaths.
Mino smirked over his shoulder. "Because you're stubborn, curious, and maybe a little foolish."
"Maybe?" she shot back, glaring playfully. "That's the best you can do? Most men call me terrifyingly determined."
"I was being polite," he said.
"Don't strain yourself."
Their banter carried them past narrow ledges and winding trails. And then, as the trees thinned, the world opened.
Ann stopped, breath stolen not by exertion but by wonder. Below stretched an endless tapestry of forest and valley, rivers glinting like molten silver under the sun. Far off, a waterfall cascaded in a white ribbon, its roar faint but steady. Above them, the peak speared the heavens, shrouded in cloud.
"It's… incredible," Ann whispered.
Mino's gaze softened as he watched her rather than the view. "I know," he said quietly. "I've never stood here with someone before."
Heat rose in her cheeks, and she quickly turned to the horizon. "Don't get sentimental, Mino. We have herbs to find."
He chuckled but let it pass. Leading her to a secluded clearing, he knelt among a circle of plants unlike any she had seen. Their leaves shimmered faintly, edges tipped in a bluish glow, as though touched by starlight.
Ann crouched beside him. "Are these…?"
"The ones," Mino confirmed, reverent. "Sacred to the mountain. Hunters say they sprouted where a god's blood fell long ago. No ordinary fever can resist their strength."
The air around the clearing hummed faintly, as though alive. Ann shivered, half in awe. "They really do feel… holy."
"They demand respect," Mino said, carefully gathering the leaves. "If we take them lightly, the mountain won't forgive us."
By nightfall, they camped midway down the slope. Mino's old shelter still stood: a ring of stones around a firepit, a lean-to lashed between pines. The fire he built crackled warmly, casting gold on their faces and shadows dancing long into the trees.
Ann hugged her knees, gazing into the flames. "This place feels… different. Like the air is holding secrets."
"It is," Mino said, poking at the fire. His voice carried a quiet reverence. "I built this camp years ago, the first time I climbed. I didn't know why then, but something called me. The mountain wanted me to return."
Ann tilted her head, studying him in the flickerlight. "You talk about it like it's alive."
"Maybe it is. Or maybe I've been up here too long." He gave her a half-smile.
Silence stretched comfortably between them, filled only by the crackle of fire and the distant cry of an owl. Then Ann smirked. "You know, for a man who keeps lecturing me about caution, you do have a flair for poetic nonsense."
Mino laughed, the sound low and warm. "And yet here you are, listening."
"Only because you're the only entertainment I have."
"Oh, I'm entertainment now?"
"Second-rate, but yes."
Their laughter mingled, softer than the fire but warmer too. For a moment, the weight of Ethan's illness, of the dangers below, felt far away.
Then Mino grew quiet, his eyes on the flames. "Ann… thank you. For coming. I didn't realize how much I needed someone beside me until you refused to let me go alone."
Ann's heart tightened. She reached out, brushing her fingers against his hand where it rested on his knee. "Don't thank me yet. We still have to get down in one piece. And then, gods willing, heal Ethan."
His hand turned beneath hers, steadying her touch. For an instant, the night seemed to hold its breath around them, as if the mountain itself listened.
"Then we'll do it together," Mino said.
Ann swallowed, fighting the sudden rush of warmth that threatened her composure. She pulled her hand back with a grin, forcing levity into her tone. "Careful, Mino. If you keep saying things like that, people might think you like me."
"Terrifyingly determined," he reminded her. "I'd be a fool not to."
The fire popped, scattering sparks into the night sky, where they rose like tiny stars and vanished into the dark.
And so, beneath the ancient watch of the mountain, they rested—two souls bound by duty, laughter, and the faint promise of something more.