This frigid mountain eats sound.
We’re all silent. Waddling. Like sad little penguins. Where the fuck are the drums? This is a war march. There’s no reason for this depressfest other than poor weather.
Misty snow drifts against us in slow, spiteful sheets of haze, whispering across our faces instead of the cozy black jagged rocks that comprise this mountain. Little gnats of snow pepper my skin, following the rolling winds. The cold reaps the warmth from my every exhale, but I run hot. The flame inside never flinches.
This treacherous hike is nearing it’s end. The air is thin, and the mountain no longer seems to loom over us. A snowy valley with a party castle will greet us in no time.
Our current path has narrowed, up here at the top. It’s now just a tad over shoulder-wide; on the left is an endless drop—slanted depths of gritty ice hidden behind fog.
I like to imagine Nicklas comically falling off here, rather than fearing for my own life. Plus, he’s probably already doing the same in his own head, which adds to my enjoyment, despite this being an entirely made-up scenario in my tumultuous, distraction-oriented mind.
The Mad Raven has joined me up front. We’re silent. Just another pair of waddling penguins.
I suppose she defaults into her persona under less-than-ideal circumstances—internally, she’s also shitting bricks like Nicklas. Not from fear of the cliff, but from the crippling fear of failure. It’s a giant cosmic being that likes to squeeze till she turns purple, and sadistically watches the blood pour from her eyes.
We’re alike in that—the fear of failure. I feel it more than she could ever, not that it’s a competition. Maybe I’m just a tad more flexible by nature. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ NoveI-Fire.ɴet
Failure will have to stretch me taut and rip me to shreds. Squeezing won’t be enough. Sounds odd, but it made perfect sense in my head.
"Weather’s charming," I say, poking and prodding at the physical and metaphorical ice around Leara.
She doesn’t look at me. The hood of her dark cloak is low, only showing the lower half of her face; pale skin dashed red with rosy, ice-bitten cheeks, backgrounded by that lustrous raven hair.
These alluring features—a perfect blend of softness and strength—are mesmerizing. She’s made for the snow—it’s the perfect canvas for her image.
The first time I saw her in person, I said that ’my lifetime of grievances with Humanity’ was ’not so easily duped by a pretty face’.
A lot has changed since then. The statement still holds. I think it does. But I still find myself indulging in these glances. I certainly stretch the ’I’m just acting’ bit to its natural limits. The result is complete ignorance of my own character. Whiplashing, to say the least. Still, I trudge forward.
"Quite," she replies curtly before expanding. "A bit too warm, I reckon."
"Winter can’t come soon enough," I murmur, blowing away a glob of snow from my mouth before briefly glancing over my shoulder.
Behind us, Valeria grumbles and kicks against the cliffside just to make the mountain flinch. Obviously, she’s bored.
Cossa trudges along in mysterious silence. I don’t understand his angle whatsoever. Nor do I trust that stubborn act—I do, for the most part, but cautiously, to some extent. He feels tricky. Call it a gut feeling.
Nicklas and Nelly seem to be conversing as he struggles to keep up. A strange pair, but I suppose opposites attract. Or, more likely, I suppose that mere allies will occasionally speak to one another. Such is the decree of my vast wisdom.
My gut is usually on the mark.
...
And it lurches out in pain.
"Stop," I hastily growl out.
Endangered pulls a knotted cord through my gut and ties it off. Excruciating. Wrong. Something’s very wrong.
No sound. No glow. Just a wrongness that dilates the world and makes the next step taste like my last.
I cannot step forward. No one can step forward.
If anyone steps past me, I will die. Everyone will die.
Leara halts mid-stride without a question. She doesn’t look at me. My word is good enough. But for Valeria, well, she only stops when Leara does. Everyone else freezes like a traffic jam.
"Hold," Leara commands with authority.
"What?" Valeria asks, impatient already.
"What’s the matter?" Evan calls out. We ignore.
My eyes squint, scouring the rocks and the snow.
I don’t see anything.
The ledge kinks around a black fang of stone, and the snow has varnished everything in honest, pristine white. Untouched.
Yet it’s a perfect spot for a trap. Any misstep and you tumble to your doom.
There’s something here.
"Do you see it?" I whisper to Leara, my eyes fixed ahead like a deer in headlights.
"I feel it," she says, concentrating, a low white glow emanating from her arms. "Can’t see it."
"Invisible tripwire." It has to be.
"I think you’re right."
A trap. The Landeskogs seem to be expecting visitors. This is a bit sophisticated for them—I don’t think it’s an Artifact. This is an Essence-created tripwire.
Valeria snorts. "Just point it out. I’ll cut it."
"That’s not how it works," I lightly recoil from her stupidity. "It’ll explode if you cut it haphazardly. Or worse."
"Then I’ll jump it
"And then you’ll explode. There are likely multiple. We can’t tell for sure."
"I don’t see anything," Valeria shrugs, stepping forward and squinting.
...
"You weren’t supposed to see it coming," the voice says. "That was the fun of it."
BOOOOM.
The mountain bursts.
I’m airborne. And I’m fucked.
Gravity tugs on me like a fishing line. Except it’s caught not only me, but also Leara and Valeria.
The wind howls through my ears. It’s surreal. My insides churn.
THUD.
I slam back into the rock, coughing up the faulty air that wants to rush out.
Leara and Valeria tumble with me. We are all caught on the same gravitational hook.
My boots skitter. Valeria digs in, grabbing onto Leara.
Moist clouds cloud my vision in endless white, accented with frozen icicles stabbing at my face.
It isn’t long before white melds into black—ground rushing up to meet us at critical speeds.
I’m gonna fucking die.