The door of stone vanished behind them, swallowed by a white, screaming wall of blizzard. The cold was an immediate, physical assault, so intense it felt like a solid force. It stole the breath from their lungs and needled its way through their clothes, their skin, down to the very marrow of their bones. The warmth of the Crossroads, the memory of the Forest of Whispers, even the searing heat of their first death—all were erased in an instant by this absolute, primordial freeze.
Maro instinctively wrapped his arms around Yara, his Umbral Shroud flaring to life. But the darkness, which had been so potent against fire and beast, was useless here. The cold leeched into it, making it sluggish and thin. It was like trying to stop a flood with a sheet of paper.
"Can't... hold it..." he gritted out, his teeth already chattering.
Yara reacted, a sphere of warm, golden light erupting from her—Aegis of Dawn. It pushed back the blizzard for a mere five meters, creating a fragile pocket of survivable air. The wind howled in fury at this defiance, lashing against the barrier with renewed violence. They could see nothing beyond the glow but a maelstrom of white.
"This is different," Yara shouted over the gale. Her body was already trembling from the effort. "There's nothing to fight! Just... this!"
That was the true horror of this trial. It was an environmental war of attrition. A slow, grinding countdown until Yara's light failed, and the cold consumed them.
They had to move. Staying still was death. Through the swirling snow, a colossal, dark shape loomed—a mountain, its peak lost in the storm clouds. It was the only feature in an otherwise flat, frozen plain. A path, if it could be called that, a treacherous, icy switchback, was faintly visible snaking up its side.
"The mountain," Maro yelled, pointing. "We have to climb!"
Their first steps were a lesson in agony. The wind threatened to pluck them from the ground. The ice underfoot was slick as glass. Maro found that by focusing his Umbral Shroud not as a shield, but as a coating of gritty, dark traction on their boots, they could manage a precarious grip. It was a subtle, precise use of his power he hadn't considered before, a shift from brute force to finesse.
The ascent was a brutal, silent struggle. Yara's light was their only world, a tiny, moving bubble in the infinite white. They didn't speak; all their energy was devoted to breathing, to placing one foot in front of the other, and to maintaining their powers. Maro felt a constant, draining pull, like a leak in his very soul, as he continuously renewed the dark grip on their feet. Yara was faring worse. The Aegis was a massive drain, and the blizzard was relentless. The sphere of light began to shrink, from five meters, to four, to three.
After what felt like hours, but could have been mere minutes, Yara stumbled, her knee hitting the hard ice. The light flickered dangerously. "Maro... I can't... it's too much."
Panic, colder than the wind, gripped him. He saw it then, just off the path, a shallow cave, little more than an indentation in the rock face. "There! Just a little further!"
He half-dragged, half-carried her into the relative shelter. The moment they were out of the direct wind, Yara let the Aegis drop. The exhaustion on her face was profound. She slumped against the cave wall, her breaths coming in ragged, shallow puffs of white.
"I can't keep it up all the way," she whispered, her eyes closing. "The mountain... it's too high."
Maro looked out at the blizzard, then back at her. His power was ill-suited for this. He was a weapon of suppression and attack, not a source of warmth or sustainable light. Desperation clawed at him. He remembered the Grave Maw, the moment of understanding when he forged his darkness into a blade. Could he do the opposite?
He knelt in front of Yara, ignoring the biting cold that immediately began to seep into his own bones. He took her frozen hands in his and called upon his Umbral Shroud. But this time, he didn't think of weapons, or traps, or cold. He thought of the absence of wind. He thought of stillness. He thought of the deep, insulating dark of a sealed tomb, a dark that kept the cold out, not in.
The shadows pooled around them, not as a weapon, but as a blanket. A cocoon of absolute blackness woven from his will. It was incredibly difficult, a delicate act of creation that felt entirely alien. He wasn't blocking the cold; he was creating a void that the cold could not cross. He felt the strain immediately, a sharp, mental headache blooming behind his eyes, but he held on.
Inside the cocoon, the howling wind became a distant murmur. The deadly chill receded. It wasn't warm, but it was survivable.
Yara's eyes fluttered open. She looked at the darkness surrounding them, then at Maro's face, tight with concentration. "You're... insulating us."
"Trying to," he grunted. "Can you rest? We can't stay long."
She nodded, leaning her head back. For ten minutes, they sat in the silent, dark bubble. It was the first true rest they'd had since arriving in hell. In the quiet, a new sound reached them, not from outside, but from inside their minds. It was a voice, but unlike the disembodied judge of the first trial, this one was ancient, weary, and as cold as the mountain itself.
Why do you climb? it whispered into their consciousness.
Maro and Yara exchanged a look. They didn't speak aloud, but answered with their thoughts. To survive, Maro thought back.
To find a way out, Yara added.
The voice was silent for a long moment. The weak seek to leave. The strong seek to conquer. This peak is not an obstacle. It is an offer. Prove your worth, and you will be granted a fragment of this realm's power. A Boon. Fail, and become another frozen statue for the next aspirants to pass.
The voice faded. The implications were staggering. This wasn't just another trial; it was a test for a reward. A permanent upgrade.
Refreshed, Yara stood, a new determination in her eyes. "A Boon. We need that."
They resumed their climb. The revelation changed everything. They weren't just surviving; they were competing. They pushed harder, faster. Maro's insulating technique improved with practice, allowing them to take shorter, more effective breaks. Yara learned to pulse her Aegis, flaring it brilliantly for a few seconds to scout the path ahead before letting it drop to conserve energy.
The higher they climbed, the more the mountain itself seemed to fight back. The wind took on a physical, malevolent intelligence, forming into fists of compressed air that tried to hammer them off the path. Jagged icicles, sharp as spears, shot from the cliffs above. They were no longer just battling the environment; they were battling the mountain's will.
They fought as a perfect unit. Yara would flash her light, blinding the wind-spirits and shattering the incoming icicles. Maro would then use his shadows to anchor them to the mountain face, creating handholds and footholds where none existed. Their powers, light and dark, were no longer just complementary; they were synergistic, each making the other more effective.
Finally, after an eternity of struggle, the path leveled out. They had reached the summit. The blizzard ceased abruptly, as if they had stepped through a curtain. They stood on a small, flat plateau under a sky of churning, green-black clouds. In the center of the plateau stood a single, crystalline archway, shimmering with a soft, internal light. And before it, floating in the air, were three orbs of light, each pulsing with a different color: silver, gold, and deep blue.
The weary voice spoke again, this time aloud, echoing across the peak. You have endured the cold. You have harnessed your power with wisdom, not just brute force. You have ascended. Choose your Boon. The Boon of Swiftness, to outrun your fate. The Boon of Resilience, to endure what others cannot. Or the Boon of Clarity, to see the truths hidden in the shadows of this world. Choose one.
This was the reward. A permanent power. But only one.
Maro looked at Yara. "You choose. Your light got us here."
Yara shook her head, her gaze fixed on the orbs. "No. We both look. We both decide."
They studied the orbs. Swiftness was tempting—they could avoid fights altogether. Resilience was practical—they could survive more punishment. But Clarity... in a world of deceitful doors, whispering forests, and silent, psychological traps, the ability to see the truth could be the most powerful weapon of all.
"The Clarity," they said in unison.
Yara reached out and touched the deep blue orb. It dissolved into a shower of azure sparks that flowed into her eyes. For a moment, her pupils glowed with the light of a deep, knowing ocean, then faded.
She blinked, and looked at Maro, then at the crystalline archway. "I can see it," she whispered, awe in her voice. "The archway... it's not just a door. It's a nexus. I can see... threads of possibility leading from it. Three strong paths. One reeks of decay. One shimmers with pure, dangerous energy. One feels... old. Empty."
This was the power of the Boon. Not just a choice, but informed choice.
"Which one?" Maro asked.
Yara focused, her new sight peering into the fabric of their reality. "The empty one. The other two are baits. Powerful, but deadly. The empty one is a blank slate. It's a risk, but it's our risk to shape."
Hand in hand, armed with a new gift and a hardened resolve, they stepped through the crystalline archway, leaving the Howling Peak behind, ready to shape their own fate in the silent, waiting void.