Cassandra McConnell's Perspective
I should've suspected it from the beginning.
The brute's promise — two weeks to cross the frozen plains and reach the base of the mountain — had been far too good to be true.But like an idiot, I believed him.
During the first few days, I barely had the energy to doubt anything.Every step through that white hell was a battle.The wind cut like invisible blades, the cold bit straight through to the bone, and the snow — thick, treacherous, and endless — swallowed our boots, turning every meter gained into a small victory.Fighting, breathing, and simply moving forward demanded so much from body and mind that thinking about anything else became impossible.
That place wanted us dead.Everything about it screamed that truth.
The silence was suffocating.No birds. No trees. No signs of life — only grotesque creatures that emerged from the ice without warning.Beasts with translucent skin and long fangs, as if the cold itself had sculpted hatred into their flesh.And even with the group moving in defensive formation, each ambush left new scars.
It wasn't until time began to blur together that I realized how deeply I'd been fooled.
On the fourteenth day, while the wind howled around us and the pale sun barely pierced the clouds, I remembered the deadline Alessio — the Brute — had promised."Two weeks, at most," he'd said in that calm, commanding tone that made everyone believe him without question.
But when those exact two weeks passed, he didn't say a word.Not a single one.No mention of rest. No talk of return.He simply kept walking — same steady pace, same focused eyes fixed on the frozen horizon.
And, to my disbelief, no one questioned it.Not one of them.
They moved like sleepwalkers — blind, obedient, hypnotized.As if the mountain itself had cast a spell over them.Their gazes were all the same: fixed, determined, hollow.They just… kept going.
For a moment, I considered rebelling.Stopping. Turning around.
The idea of leaving that group of zealots behind and heading back alone sounded tempting — the thought of warmth, shelter, and civilized silence almost felt like a dream.But one glance over my shoulder was enough to kill the fantasy.
The endless white stretched behind me like an ocean of snow.The wind whipped through the air, raising spirals of frost that erased every trace of our path, and somewhere out there, beneath the ice, I knew they were watching.Predators — the kind that moved unseen under the frozen surface, waiting for the first fool to stray from the herd.
The thought of facing them alone was even more insane than following this pack of lunatics toward the mountain.
I sighed, pulled my hood tighter, and kept walking.My legs burned, my fingers tingled inside the gloves, and my breath came out in pale clouds that vanished before my face.
Maybe I was crazy for staying.But out here, sanity seemed like a luxury no one could afford.
And deep down, there was something in Alessio's eyes — that cold, unyielding glint — that made me believe that even if he was insane, he was the kind of insane that survived.And if I wanted to survive, maybe following the Brute was my best shot.
Twenty-five days.Twenty-five days of cold, pain, and exhaustion — and honestly, if someone asked whether it had all been worth it, I wouldn't hesitate for a second: absolutely not.
I would've much rather stayed at level 4, comfortable in a warm city, sleeping in a proper bed, eating hot food, and clinging to the illusion of safety.Anything but this — freezing to death in the middle of nowhere, feeling like my body was slowly turning to ice.
But reality didn't care what I wanted.I was there, level 9, lips cracked, fingers numb inside the gloves, skin so cold it felt like even my blood had given up.
The mountain loomed ahead — a living wall of ice.A colossal giant of white and blue, its peaks stabbing through the clouds, its steep slopes shining beneath the pale light.It was breathtaking… and terrifying.It felt less like a mountain and more like a god carved from winter itself — indifferent, eternal, watching the fools who dared approach.
The wind roared through the cliffs, lifting whirlwinds of snow that stung like needles.And yet, my companions were smiling.
That was when I realized they were all completely insane.
Their faces glowed with genuine satisfaction — wide smiles, eyes shining with pride and exhaustion.They looked at each other, laughing, touching shoulders, congratulating themselves as if they'd just conquered the world.Clearly, they all believed they'd achieved something grand, something worth every ounce of suffering.
Me?I saw nothing but trouble.
The cold. The beasts. The impossible terrain.And now, that monstrous mountain stretching into infinity.
I was, without question, the only sane person left in the group.
While they radiated accomplishment, I could only think of warmth — of blankets, fire, and the sound of a crackling hearth.But clearly, that was just me.Judging by their faces, this journey had been worth every drop of frozen sweat.They were euphoric.And I… was just tired.
Still, among all those faces shining with triumph, there was one that stood out.
The Brute's.
Alessio stood at the front, slightly apart from the rest, staring at the mountain in silence.The wind caught strands of his dark hair, and the pale reflection of the snow glimmered in his eyes — eyes that showed no exhaustion at all.There was something there. Something different.
Not pride.Not relief.But expectation.
He watched that colossal peak with the calm of someone analyzing a chessboard before making the decisive move.His gaze was fixed, cold, and patient — but there was a spark in it, a faint light that flickered between curiosity and obsession.
And that was when I understood.
This journey — this nightmare that had already pushed all of us beyond reason — was far from over.
In truth, this had only been the beginning.
The real challenge waited beyond that mountain.And Alessio's eyes made one thing perfectly clear:
He already knew.