The Ghost Path lived up to its name—it was a deeply forgotten trail, but that also meant it was riddled with unforgiving obstacles. We continued our night movement, the hours blurring into a cycle of slow progress and tense vigilance. Early the next morning, just before the sun was due to rise and force us into a daytime hideout, I was scouting ahead, carefully picking my way through a narrow, fog-shrouded section of the gorge. The air was thick, damp, and unusually quiet, a silence that felt heavy with danger.
Rounding a blind curve where the gorge walls narrowed to barely two vehicle widths, I froze. Directly ahead, half-hidden by the swirling mist, was a makeshift Viper checkpoint. It wasn't manned at the moment, but its construction showed a disturbing level of organization. They had used large, jagged boulders dragged from the canyon walls to create a formidable choke point, forcing any passing vehicle to slow to a crawl or risk damage. Beside the blockade, a shallow, dug-out trench was clearly visible—a sniper or sentry position—and an improvised tripwire system consisting of fine wire strung across the trail, connected to a cluster of cans.
The setup was brilliant in its simplicity and lethality. Any attempt to clear the boulders or drive through would trigger a loud alarm, bringing the Vipers down on us before we could react. We could not backtrack; the effort to get the truck this far was too great, and the time lost would guarantee our capture. We were effectively trapped, with a silent, deadly obstacle directly in our path.
I immediately withdrew, scrambling back to the column's halted position. My heart hammered against my ribs as I gave Valerie the coded report, describing the position of the boulders and the tripwire. Valerie's face went grim. Kael immediately proposed using explosives to clear the boulders, a high-risk strategy that would guarantee the Vipers heard us for miles.
"No explosives," I stated firmly, my voice low but decisive. "We breach this silently. Lexi, I need you. This is a logistics problem, not a firefight."
I quickly grabbed my map and pointed out the area. "The gorge wall on the left side, Lexi. It's granite, but the rock face is rough and stepped for about twenty feet up. The tripwire is knee-high, secured to that small pine trunk on the right."
Lexi knelt beside me, her long brown hair pulled back tight, her eyes tracing the lines on the map and my description. I could almost see her mind racing, calculating angles and tension. "We need to neutralize the tripwire and then create a temporary, silent clearance path wider than the truck's armor," she murmured. "The wire is the immediate problem. If we cut it, the tension release might trigger the cans. We need to de-tension it first."
She immediately started pulling specialized tools from her pack: a small, thin length of surgical wire and two tiny, padded clamps. Her plan was surgical: I would use my height and reach to secure the surgical wire to the tripwire far from the anchor point. Then, under her direction, I would slowly apply counter-tension, mimicking the weight of the wire, before she used the padded clamps to secure the cans' anchor points silently. Once the alarm was neutralized, the second phase involved silently moving the boulders just enough for the truck to squeeze through without damaging its critical components.
The next thirty minutes were agonizing, performed in the pre-dawn gloom under the shadow of the unseen Vipers. Lexi directed me with quiet, precise whispers, her focus absolute. My hands shook slightly as I worked the delicate clamps, the difference between success and a catastrophic alarm separated by millimeters. Finally, with a soft, nearly inaudible metallic click, the tripwire was secured and neutralized.
Then came the boulders. Utilizing the truck's hydraulic jack and several small wooden wedges, Lexi and I, working in a shared, synchronized effort, managed to move the largest boulder just six inches to the side—the minimal clearance required. It was physically punishing, but achieved in silence. As the column slowly and silently drove the truck through the newly widened path, Kael watched us, his usual skepticism finally yielding to a deep, unquestioning respect. We had faced the Serpent's Mark and bypassed it using intellect and discipline. Our partnership was now the column's most reliable asset.