Theras stepped onto the first stone of the mountain path without hesitation.
The air changed the moment his foot made contact.
It was subtle at first, a faint tightening of the space around him, as though the mountain itself had become aware of his presence. The wind that had moved freely before now flowed differently, no longer drifting aimlessly but circling slowly around the path ahead, drawn toward the summit where the sword waited.
He continued forward, his red eyes fixed upward.
The path was narrow, carved directly into the mountain's body, its surface worn smooth by time or by passage. The stone beneath his feet was dark, almost metallic in tone, and faint fractures ran along its surface like veins. Each step carried him closer to the clouds above, closer to the sword embedded in the peak.
Then the mountain reacted.
