The wind howled like a living beast, clawing at the mouth of the cave. Snow swept across the ridge in furious spirals, striking the cliffs with a sound like shattered glass. The world outside was pure chaos—a storm so fierce it blurred the line between sky and earth.
Inside, their fire flickered weakly, its light barely touching the damp walls. Kael sat near the entrance, his spear planted in the ground, watching the storm with wary eyes. Aric leaned against the wall opposite him, his cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders, the relic resting against his chest. Lira sat between them, her small hands cupped over the dying flame, whispering softly as if willing it to stay alive.
"How long do these storms last?" Aric asked, raising his voice above the howling wind.
Kael shook his head. "Sometimes hours. Sometimes days. The mountain decides."
"The mountain decides?" Aric repeated, a skeptical edge in his tone.
Kael's gaze never left the storm. "You've seen enough to know this place isn't just stone and snow. It listens. It reacts. When something stirs within it—something old—it unleashes storms like this."
Aric glanced toward the cave's entrance, where flashes of pale light flickered in the snow. "Then something's definitely awake."
He stood, pulling his cloak tight, and stepped closer to the cave mouth. The wind hit him instantly, freezing the breath in his lungs. Yet amid the blinding white, he saw shapes moving—shadows drifting through the storm. At first, he thought they were rocks or gusts of snow, but then one of them turned its head.
A face. Pale as moonlight.
The shadow glided closer, its form shifting like smoke. It wasn't human—it had no legs, only the outline of a cloak that fluttered against the wind. The storm bent around it, howling louder as if protesting its presence.
"Aric, get back!" Kael shouted.
But the figure stopped just outside the cave, hovering inches above the snow. Then, in a voice that was neither male nor female, it spoke:
"Bearer of the Flame… the mountain remembers you."
The words echoed inside Aric's skull rather than his ears. The relic against his chest pulsed in answer, radiating a faint golden glow. He felt his heart tighten. "Who are you?" he asked.
The spirit's form rippled like disturbed water. "I am what remains of the Watchers—those who once guarded the sacred Flame. I am bound to its ashes… and to its sins."
Kael stood beside him now, his spear trembling in his grip. "If you're one of the Watchers, then why curse this place? Why drive travelers to their deaths?"
The spirit's gaze turned toward Kael. "We did not curse it. We failed it. When the Flame turned wild, we tried to contain it. But to seal it, we bound ourselves. Our souls became the storm."
Lira stepped forward, her voice trembling. "So the mountain cries because it remembers you?"
The spirit's face softened, its voice lowering to a mournful whisper. "It remembers everything. Every prayer unanswered. Every soul it devoured. And now… it remembers him."
It pointed a long, pale finger toward Aric.
The relic flared, flooding the cave with golden light. Aric staggered back, clutching it as a flood of visions struck him—ancient halls burning with golden fire, warriors kneeling in chains, and a lone man standing amid the inferno, holding a crystal heart that blazed like a sun.
Aric gasped, falling to his knees. "I've seen this before…"
"You carry the shard," the spirit said. "A fragment of what once was whole. The Flame has slept within it, waiting for one who can bear its weight. That is why the mountain wakes—to reclaim what it lost."
Kael frowned. "If that thing inside him is what the ancients sealed away, then freeing it would destroy everything."
"Perhaps," the spirit replied. "Or perhaps it is the only way to heal what was broken. The Flame is not evil, hunter. It burns only as it is guided. In wrong hands, it devours. In right hands… it renews."
The relic's light dimmed, leaving a faint warmth against Aric's chest. His voice was low. "You said it remembers me. Why?"
The spirit hovered closer, its face dissolving into mist. "Because part of you once walked these halls. The Flame marked your soul long ago. Your rebirth was not chance—it was the mountain's call."
Aric's pulse quickened. The air seemed to thicken around him, heavy with unspoken truth. "You mean… I've been here before?"
"Not as you are now," the spirit whispered. "But the soul remembers what the mind forgets."
Lightning flashed across the ridge, illuminating the storm in brilliant white. The spirit began to fade, its voice scattering with the wind.
"When the storm breaks, follow the light that rises from the peak. There you will find the Heart of Flame… and your truth."
Then it was gone.
The wind eased as suddenly as it had risen. Snowflakes drifted gently now, no longer fierce but delicate, almost peaceful. Kael lowered his spear, his expression tight with unease.
"What did it mean, that you've been here before?"
Aric stared into the fading storm, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and dread. "I don't know," he said quietly. "But if what it said is true, then this isn't just my journey—it's my return."
Lira touched his arm gently. "Then maybe that means you can end it."
Outside, the clouds began to part, revealing the first break of dawn. Through the thinning mist, a faint beam of golden light shot upward from the highest peak—the very summit that waited above them.
Aric rose, gripping his sword and the relic. "Then that's where we go next," he said. "To the Heart of Flame."
Kael nodded, though his gaze lingered on the rising light. "Let's hope it welcomes you more kindly than it did the rest."
The three of them stepped out of the cave, their shadows stretching long against the glowing snow. The storm had passed—but the mountain was awake, and its heart was calling.