Each step was slower now, not from hesitation, but from exhaustion. His body had reached its limit, but his eyes never left the sword. There was no doubt in his gaze, no fear, no uncertainty.
He stepped onto the summit.
The air here felt different. It was still, untouched by the violent clashes that had shaken the mountain below. Even the wind seemed to avoid this place, as though unwilling to disturb what stood at its center.
Theras stopped a short distance from the blade and drew in a deep breath.
Up close, the sword appeared almost ordinary.
Its hilt bore engravings unlike any he had seen before. Fine lines curved and spiraled across its surface, forming patterns that resembled stars, clusters, and vast empty stretches between them. It was not decoration. It was a map.
A map of something far greater than this mountain.
