The shivering was uncontrollable, a violent, full-body tremor that had nothing to do with the cold air and everything to do with the primal fear vibrating up through the ground. Crunch… crunch… crunch… Each step was a small earthquake, a deliberate, world-shaking footfall that promised annihilation. The sounds of the Goblin and Elf skirmish had vanished, swallowed by the sheer, overwhelming presence of whatever was approaching.
Do not move. Do not breathe. The Voice was a razor's edge of tension, a stark contrast to its usual calm.
Karuk pressed himself into the muddy bank, behind the gnarled roots of a water-oak, his wet furs leaching the last of his body heat into the ground. He was a pebble, insignificant, hoping the mountain would not notice him. The smell that washed over him was of damp earth, ancient moss, and deep, subterranean stone.
The trees at the bend in the river groaned and splintered. A leg descended, a pillar of moss-covered granite wider than the oldest tree in the forest. It sank into the riverbank, the impact driving the air from Karuk's lungs. Water surged, flooding over the bank and soaking him further. He dared a single, terrified glance upward.
It was a Stone-Man, but unlike the one they had seen from the cave. This one was vaster, older. Its body was a range of hills given life, its head a craggy summit lost in the night sky. Two pinpricks of soft, amber light glowed from deep within its stony face, scanning the terrain with a slow, geological patience. In one hand, it dragged the colossal, mangled carcass of the troll-like creature Karuk had seen bathed in fire, its hide now cold and its limbs twisted at impossible angles.
The titan paused, its head turning slightly. The amber lights passed over Karuk's hiding place. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the foot to descend and crush him into the mud. But the gaze moved on. The giant was not looking for insects. It took another earth-shaking step, then another, its form moving up the valley with a slow, inexorable purpose, the dead troll scraping a furrow in the earth behind it.
The crunch… crunch… faded, replaced once more by the rush of the river and the frantic beating of Karuk's heart. He lay there for a long time, trembling, the image of the walking mountain seared into his mind.
It has passed. You must move. Its path is your path.
Karuk pushed himself up, his body aching, his limbs leaden with cold and fear. He looked at the path of destruction the Stone-Man had left—a swath of flattened trees and churned earth leading up the valley, parallel to the river.
Follow the trail. It will not deviate for Goblin or Elf. It is the clearest path.
It felt like madness. To walk in the footsteps of that thing. But the Voice's logic was irrefutable. Nothing would dare cross that path. It was a road made by a god.
He began to walk, his own progress a pathetic shuffle compared to the giant's strides. The scale of the destruction was humbling. Ancient oaks had been snapped like twigs. Boulders had been kicked aside as if they were pebbles. And everywhere, the deep, perfect impressions of its feet, each one large enough to hold his entire tribe.
He walked for what felt like an eternity, the moon tracing its path across the sky. The valley was eerily silent, as if every living thing was holding its breath in the wake of the titan. He saw no more Goblins, no more Elves. Once, he saw the glint of scales high above—the blue Dragon, circling a distant peak, a silent sentinel.
The Stone-Man's trail began to slope upwards, away from the river, towards the base of the western mountains—the opposite side from his tribe's cave. The ground became rockier, the air thinner. The first hints of predawn light began to bleed into the sky, painting the world in shades of grey.
And then he saw it.
The trail ended at a cliff face, but this was no random rock wall. It was an archway, so vast it seemed a natural formation until he saw the patterns. The stone was carved with spirals and lines that spoke of immense age and a intelligence that was not human. The archway led into a tunnel that plunged into the heart of the mountain. The Stone-Man's footprints led directly inside.
This is the path. The Old Way. It will take you through the mountain and emerge into the high lands near your home.
This was it. The way back. But as he stood at the entrance to that immense darkness, a new fear gripped him. The tunnel was not empty.
Lining the entrance, half-covered in moss and shadows, were skeletons. Not human. Not animal. They were the bones of Goblins, twisted and broken. Some were impaled on sharpened stakes of stone that grew from the tunnel floor. Others were crushed flat, as if a great weight had stamped them out. It was a warning, written in bone. A grisly testament to what happened to those who were not welcome in this place.
The Stone-Men tolerate no trespass in their places of power. You must walk with respect. You must walk with purpose. Do not linger. Do not stray from the center of the path.
Karuk gripped his spear, the flint point suddenly feeling more useless than ever. He was being asked to walk into a tomb, a place that had killed dozens of the fierce Goblins. He looked back the way he had come, at the long, dangerous valley. There was no other choice.
Taking a deep breath of the cold, damp air that sighed from the tunnel, Karuk stepped across the threshold of bones, leaving the grey light of dawn behind and plunging into the absolute darkness of the mountain. The only sound was the drip of water and the echo of his own fearful footsteps, swallowed by the immense, waiting silence. He was in the belly of the world, and the only thing guiding him was a voice in his head, leading him deeper into the unknown.