The mountains rose like a wall of shadow in the distance, their jagged peaks cutting into the morning sky. By the time Aric and Lira reached the lower slopes, the road of ancient stones had narrowed into a rough trail carved by centuries of wind and rain. The air here was thin and sharp, carrying the faint scent of iron and pine.
Lira trudged behind Aric, her small boots crunching over loose gravel. Her shoulders drooped beneath the weight of exhaustion, but she didn't complain. Her quiet endurance reminded Aric of the long road ahead—one that would demand far more than simple strength.
"Stay close," Aric said over his shoulder. "Mountain paths can be treacherous."
"I will," she replied softly, clutching the worn doll to her chest.
The trail wound upward through dense forests of black firs. The canopy let in narrow shafts of sunlight that made the mist rising from the forest floor glow as if the earth itself exhaled. Every so often, the silence was broken by the distant cry of a hawk or the rustle of unseen creatures in the undergrowth.
As they ascended higher, Aric noticed that the air carried a faint hum, almost inaudible yet persistent, like the reverberation of a distant bell. The relic at his belt pulsed faintly in response.
They paused at a ridge overlooking a narrow ravine. Far below, a river cut through the stone like a silver blade, its surface reflecting the pale light of day. Aric scanned the slopes ahead. There was a path climbing toward a distant plateau, but it was guarded by something unexpected—a line of tall stone pillars half-buried in moss.
"Those aren't natural," Aric muttered.
Lira stepped up beside him, peering down with wide eyes. "Do you think people live there?"
"Not anymore," Aric said. "Those pillars were made to mark a boundary… maybe a warning."
They pressed on carefully. The path grew steeper, and loose stones skittered down the slopes with each step. Near midday, they reached the first of the pillars. Up close, it was evident that the weathered stone bore ancient carvings—circles entwined with flame-like sigils similar to those on the relic.
Aric traced the symbols with his fingers. "The same pattern… whoever built these knew about the Flame of Origins."
Lira tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her tired eyes. "Does that mean we're on the right path?"
"Maybe," Aric said. "Or maybe we're walking into the heart of what the masked ones want."
Before they could move on, the sharp crack of breaking twigs came from the slope above. Aric's hand went to his sword in an instant.
"Who's there?" he called.
A figure stepped out from behind a rocky outcrop—a young man with a lean, wiry build, dressed in a hunter's garb of patched leather. His hair was the color of ash, and his eyes were bright and watchful. He carried a long spear tipped with iron.
"Relax," the stranger said, lowering the spear slightly. "You're not the first to wander this road, but you're the first I've seen coming up instead of down."
Aric didn't loosen his grip. "And who are you?"
"Name's Kael," the young man replied easily. "I live with my people farther up the mountain. We keep watch over the old paths. Most travelers don't last long up here."
Lira stepped slightly behind Aric, peeking at Kael with guarded curiosity.
"We're heading to the higher peaks," Aric said carefully. "There's something there we need to find."
Kael's expression hardened a fraction. "Then you're either brave or foolish. The high passes haven't been safe for years. Strange things stir up there—lights in the mist, voices in the wind, whole caravans vanishing overnight."
Aric exchanged a glance with Lira. "We've already crossed paths with worse," he said. "We're not turning back."
Kael studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Your choice. But if you're going to the Gate, you'll need someone who knows the way."
"The Gate?" Lira asked, stepping forward despite her shyness. "What's that?"
Kael tapped the butt of his spear against the stone pillar. "That's what we call it—the old fortress in the high cliffs. Its gates have been sealed for generations, but people say there's power behind them. Power that calls to anyone who dares come close."
The relic at Aric's belt pulsed again, stronger this time, as if in answer to Kael's words. Aric frowned but said nothing.
Kael glanced at the pouch, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "Whatever you're carrying… it's tied to that place, isn't it?"
Aric didn't respond directly. "Will you guide us?"
Kael hesitated, then nodded. "I'll take you as far as the Gate. But beyond that, you're on your own."
They set off together, Kael leading the way with the easy stride of someone accustomed to the rugged terrain. As they climbed, the forest thinned further, replaced by rocky slopes dusted with patches of snow. The air grew colder, sharper with every breath, and the sky took on the pale hue of twilight even though the sun still lingered behind the peaks.
By the time they reached a sheltered ledge to camp for the night, the wind had begun to howl, carrying with it the distant echo of something like a horn's call. Lira huddled close to the small fire Kael built, her eyes flicking toward the darkness beyond the flames.
"Is that… the wind?" she asked nervously.
Kael's gaze lingered on the shadows. "Not always."
Aric sat silently, his sword laid across his lap, his eyes scanning the dark slopes. The relic's glow was faint beneath the cloth of the pouch, but he could feel it stirring, as though the mountain itself was awakening around them.
Far above, beyond the reach of their firelight, the outline of a colossal archway loomed faintly against the sky—a gate of stone and shadow, sealed yet waiting.