Crossing the perilous Alps, many of his men had died—if not from starvation, then from the cold. Disease ran rampant, morale was all but gone. Starving and battered, the once-glorious regiment was now little more than a procession of walking corpses.
Seated on a brown-furred Roston horse, draped in a simple black cloak, he led them. His voice was faint against the blizzard, yet impossibly strong. The cold was merciless, but Liras was the sun—his presence the only warmth keeping them alive.
True to his name: Dawnmaker.
His mind was clear, though one phrase echoed endlessly:
'Save the people. Save Lamberg. Save… my home.'
He exhaled, climbing higher into the storm. His horse neighed weakly beneath him.
The horse didn't climb because its master commanded it. It climbed because it knew the only way to survive was forward.
The army of half-dead men followed—some still atop horses, most trudging through snow on foot. Those who collapsed were left behind. No one helped them. They couldn't even help themselves.
The only thing pushing them forward was their will.
"They are dying, my liege," Ars whispered, voice barely audible against the shrieking wind.
"I know that, Ars," Liras growled, teeth clenched. "They're dying—but there is nothing you or I can do. Some, maybe all, will die…"
But his eyes, blazing like twin infernos, did not falter. "I swear to you, they will not die for nothing."
'There is nothing I can do for them. I am their King… and I am powerless.'
They had no supplies. Most were already dead inside. And even if they reached Lamberg, the Templar would finish the rest.
'We have nothing. Nothing but the will to walk.'
Still, not once did the thought of surrender cross Liras's mind. He wasn't driven by vengeance for his brother's killers, nor by duty.
'Save the people. Save Lamberg. Save… my home.'
Home. He wanted to go back so much it made dying unthinkable.
His horse stumbled. He placed a hand on its mane. The warmth it once had was gone.
Before it fell, Liras jumped off and grabbed his satchel. Ars quickly unsaddled beside him.
"My liege, please, take my horse—"
Liras ignored him and kept walking. Then he saw it: a massive outline in the distance.
"Ars. Over there," he called. The young general's pale blue eyes flickered turquoise—and then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
"There's a mountain! And… I think I see the entrance to a cave!"
'A cave?'
Liras's expressionless face almost faltered.
'This could be salvation. Or it could be the end.'
"We will make for the cave."
'I don't usually hope… but this time, I do. I hope it isn't a trap.'
He breathed in cold air, exhaled steam. His voice rang out, stronger now, cutting through the storm.
"There is a mountain ahead! An entrance to a cave! Do not give up!"
The blizzard no longer seemed quite so fierce. His men had no strength left to cheer, but he saw it: the flicker of hope in their eyes.
Through the snow they marched, orange lanterns flickering like dying stars.
The mountain loomed, jagged and towering. Beneath the snow, Liras—with his keen eyes—saw streaks of red.
'Redspore. It only grows where blood has soaked the earth… and where the cold is endless.'
A voice inside him said: 'It's fine. Blood was spilled here ages ago. The cave is safe.'
But another voice whispered: 'There is something inside that cave. It will kill us all.'
And that voice… was right.
As they neared the cave, hope in their eyes, they felt it: the wind pulled them forward—toward it.
'No… something is wrong.'
The mountain was breathing. It was alive.
Slumbering. Until now.
It sensed them. And it awoke.
There was no monster in the cave. The cave—no, the mountain itself—was the monster.
A deafening rumble shook the earth. Stones shifted and groaned. A massive humanoid form emerged from the stone.
"Run!" Liras shouted.
The horses bolted. The men on foot scrambled. Liras mounted Ars's horse; the tired stallion galloped with newfound strength.
The soldiers on foot were slower. Few riders dared to carry others—their horses were too weak.
Liras watched helplessly as the mountain stood. Loose boulders fell, crushing men beneath.
'We are not fast enough… but maybe it's still half-asleep.'
It swayed, heavy limbs crashing into the snow, killing more with every careless motion.
'There is no path forward. No path back.'
'We won't survive the rest of the journey. We can't go back—the Roston have Fort Revile.'
'This… is all my fault.'
'There's a reason no one crosses the Alps. Not even the Roston. And they are born of snow and cold.'
'We should've gone by sea…'
'But the navy would've caught us. This was the only way.'
'Still… I led them here. And they are dying because of it.'
'They followed me, and now they are dead. Their blood is on me.'
'I will carry that. I will carry all of it. I will take that pain and use it. Use it to keep walking. For them.'
'And for them… I will topple this mountain.'
"Stop."
"My liege?"
The horse skidded to a halt. The mountain was crawling toward them.
Liras dismounted and handed Ars his black cloak.
The young general watched as his king stepped forward. A faint orange glow surrounded him.
Snow melted at his feet. Even from a distance, Ars felt the heat—and something else: a premonition.
'That thing is going to die by Liras's hand.'
The blizzard weakened. The orange glow around Liras blazed, bright and visible even to those without Spirit Vision.
But Ars knew the truth: Liras could condense his power into one strike.
'One shot… but he won't miss.'
The mountain-creature stood fully now. Towering. Monolithic.
Compared to it, Liras was a spark.
He raised his golden-handled spear, its silver tip glowing molten.
The snow around him vanished, exposing bare rock. Then—the creature moved.
An arm, the size of a cliff, swung at him—much faster than expected.
But Liras ducked, the air shifting violently above him.
'It's stronger than I thought. Faster.'
He looked up, scanning the beast's body. Beneath the stone, he saw it: a glowing white orb.
Its core.
Flames erupted from him, intense and wild. Even the stone around him began to melt.
The creature glared down at the fiery speck—and lunged.
But Liras threw his spear.
It blazed through the air like a comet, aiming for a crack near the glowing core.
'If the gods have any pity left… please.'
The spear struck—not the core, but a crack near it. It lodged.
His eyes burned orange. The spear ignited, spewing concentrated flame—blue at the edges. The force drove the weapon forward.
It pierced the core.
But Liras had made a mistake.
'Something I should've accounted for…'
The mountain began to collapse—toward him.
He had no strength left to run. The spear returned to his hand, still burning hot.
Ars swept him up just in time. His stallion galloped with furious speed—driven by its master's will and a deep animal instinct for survival.
"My liege… look."
Behind the fallen mountain, other colossal outlines moved.
More of them.
They didn't approach. Instead, they circled the ruins of their fallen… comrade?
Liras dismounted and turned to face his men.
They were frozen, bleeding, exhausted beyond belief.
Their eyes were hollow.
There was no hope left in them.
And worst of all…
Liras was beginning to lose hope too.