The wind on Garchvabd didn't just blow; it screamed like something that had been trapped in the rock for a thousand years and was finally being let out. It carried the scent of dry ice and old, forgotten incense. My lungs felt like they were being scraped by iron wool. Every breath was a struggle, a reminder that my Level 2 stats were a joke compared to the vertical wall of stone and ice looming above us.
"Come on, Ren! Move those legs! If you stop now, the frost is going to weld your boots to the path!" Red shouted over the gale. She was about ten feet above me, perched on a narrow ledge of black obsidian. She looked annoying comfortable in her new leather suit. The glowing blue trim on her daggers pulsed in time with her heartbeat, casting flickering shadows against the white frost.
"I'm... moving..." I wheezed, my fingers numb as I gripped a jagged outcrop. "My stamina is... eleven, Red. Eleven! I have the lung capacity of a birthday candle."
