The climb grew harsher as the sun slipped behind the jagged peaks. The light faded into a dull gold, staining the mist with an eerie glow. The ridge stretched before them like a narrow spine of rock, sharp-edged and uneven, with sheer drops on both sides that vanished into endless fog. Each gust of wind made the world sway beneath their feet.
Kael led the way with cautious steps, his spear probing for stable ground. Aric followed close behind, one hand on Lira's shoulder to steady her. Every so often, he glanced back to be sure she was still safe, her small figure dwarfed by the vast, merciless landscape.
They climbed until their breaths came out in white clouds. The mountain air was thin, every inhale scraping against their throats. Even Kael looked winded, though he said nothing. His eyes stayed fixed on the path ahead, wary, alert.
Lira's voice was soft when she spoke. "Why is this place so cold, even when the sun's up?"
Kael didn't turn around. "Because warmth doesn't belong here anymore," he said grimly. "The mountain's cursed."
Aric frowned. "Cursed how?"
Kael pointed with his spear toward the highest peak that loomed through the mist. "That peak was once a temple. The ancients built it as a resting place for their gods. But when greed crept in, the Flame they worshiped turned on them. They sealed it deep inside the mountain to stop it from devouring everything."
Lira's eyes widened. "The same flame as the one you carry?"
Aric hesitated, glancing at the relic on his belt. "It's connected somehow. I can feel it… like it knows where it came from."
They reached a wider part of the ridge where the wind howled like a living thing. Strange markings were etched into the rocks underfoot—spirals, symbols of fire, and unfamiliar runes that glowed faintly in the twilight. The carvings formed a long trail, twisting toward a stone altar that stood near the ridge's end.
Kael crouched beside one of the markings, brushing away the frost with his fingers. "These are warnings," he muttered. "The last ones who tried to reach the peak must have left them."
Aric knelt beside him, studying the runes. "Can you read them?"
Kael shook his head. "Only a little. But I know this one." He pointed to a symbol shaped like a burning circle crossed by a single line. "It means 'Sacrifice.'"
Lira stepped closer, her eyes filled with unease. "Sacrifice… for what?"
Kael rose slowly, his expression grim. "To pass the mountain's curse, something must be given. Blood, will, or soul—it doesn't say which."
A sudden gust of wind roared down the ridge, scattering ice crystals into the air. The ground beneath them trembled faintly. Far below, a dull rumble echoed through the cliffs like the growl of some slumbering beast.
"The mountain's awake again," Aric said under his breath. "We need to move."
They pressed forward toward the altar. The stone surface was dark and cracked, covered in ancient bloodstains that time had not erased. Above it, the cliff face bore a vast carving of a figure cloaked in flame—its hands raised as if holding back the sky itself.
Aric placed his palm against the cold stone. The relic pulsed beneath his touch, resonating with the carving as if recognizing its origin. A deep hum filled the air, and the lines of the carving began to glow with faint, ember-like light.
Lira stepped back in alarm. "Aric, it's reacting!"
Before he could answer, a voice whispered through the wind—not a human voice, but something older, layered with echoes. It spoke in a tongue none of them fully understood, yet its meaning pressed into their minds like heat on skin.
"The Flame remembers. The debt remains unpaid."
The relic's glow intensified. Aric gritted his teeth as a surge of energy shot through his arm, searing like molten fire. He staggered back, clutching his wrist. Kael caught him before he fell.
"Aric!" Lira cried, rushing to his side.
"I'm fine," he gasped. "It's showing me something."
Images flashed in his mind—visions of the ancient temple atop the mountain, its walls blazing with golden fire. He saw figures kneeling before a great altar, offering their lifeblood to a crystal flame that pulsed like a heart. Then the vision twisted, showing the same flame bursting free, consuming everything in a wave of burning light.
When he came to, he was on his knees, breathing hard. The relic's glow had dimmed, leaving only faint warmth.
"What did you see?" Kael asked, his voice low.
"Destruction," Aric said. "They tried to contain the Flame, but it turned on them. This mountain isn't cursed—it's scarred."
Kael looked toward the looming peak. "And you still mean to climb higher?"
Aric nodded slowly. "If the Flame's power is sealed there, I have to understand it. If it's left unchecked… it'll wake again."
The wind howled louder, as if answering his resolve. Snow began to fall in thin, swirling flakes, and the air crackled faintly with energy. Lira huddled close to Aric, shivering.
Kael scanned the skies. "We should find shelter before nightfall. The storm's coming."
They followed the ridge until they found a shallow cave tucked into the cliffside. Inside, the air was dry and still, the stone walls marked by faded drawings—scenes of warriors kneeling before the Flame, of mountains split by fire, of a figure cloaked in shadow standing apart from them all.
Aric stared at the last drawing. The figure looked familiar in a way he couldn't explain. "He was different," he murmured. "He didn't kneel."
Kael followed his gaze. "Or maybe he couldn't."
As the storm raged outside, their small fire flickered weakly in the darkness. None of them spoke for a long while. The relic's glow pulsed faintly beside Aric's bedroll, beating in rhythm with his heart.
And far above them, beyond the veil of the storm, something ancient stirred within the sealed peak—its faint heartbeat echoing through the mountain's bones.