The path was treacherous, with icy patches and loose rocks threatening their footing. Kael limped, his injury slowing their progress, but Lethan moved with grace, his boots barely making a sound on the snow.
Above them, the sun had crossed its zenith and was beginning its slow descent into shadow, staining the icy peaks in hues of pale gold and bruised violet. The light caught the jagged ridges of the mountain, casting long shadows like the claws of a slumbering beast stretched over the valley. The world seemed to hold its breath as darkness crept closer.
They had stumbled upon an old, weather-beaten path, likely one of the ancient trade routes that once connected the settlements scattered across the mountains. Now, it was little more than a forgotten scar etched into the earth, but it provided a tenuous guide downward.
Lethan learned much from Kael during these hours. Despite his sharp tongue and habit of dry humor, Kael was a wellspring of knowledge, weaving stories and observations into their conversation like an old bard recounting half-forgotten epics. He spoke of places and people, of rumors and ancient feuds, his words brushing against the edges of history and myth.
It was from Kael that Lethan learned the name of the mountain they were descending, The Shattered Crest.
"No one really knows why it's called that," Kael had said, his voice carrying over the crunch of their boots against the ice. "Some think it's because of the terrain, treacherous and broken. Others say that at the summit, the very peak was shattered, like a giant's hammer smashed it to pieces."
Few dared to venture to the top, and even fewer returned. The mountain was divided into three distinct regions: The Outer Reaches, where they were now, with its manageable terrain and scattered dangers; The Middle Ridge, where the cold turned deadly and even the beasts shunned the slopes; and finally, The Crest—a place shrouded in myth. Whispers spoke of sentient Echo Beasts, a hidden enclave where creatures older than memory gathered beneath the shattered crown.
Kael had warned Lethan that while the Outer Reaches were relatively safe, dangers still lurked. Stray Echo Beasts sometimes lost their way, descending into the lower slopes in search of prey.
As the sun dipped lower and the shadows lengthened, Kael glanced at the pale sky. "We should stop for the night," he said, his voice rough from fatigue. "I'll make the fire. You go and see if there's any food nearby. Look out for berries, roots… or, if luck's on our side, something small and edible that won't tear your throat out."
Lethan gave a faint nod, his expression unreadable. He slipped away into the darkening woods, his pale figure vanishing among the trees and bushes.
* * * * *
Kael crouched by the entrance of a shallow cave, a hollow formed by collapsed rock and twisted roots. It was sheltered from the wind, and with a bit of work, it would serve as a makeshift camp. He gathered dried branches and brittle twigs from the surrounding area, arranging them with practiced efficiency. When he struck flint to steel, sparks leapt eagerly, and soon a modest fire crackled to life, casting flickering shadows against the walls.
By the time Lethan returned, dusk had fully settled, and the first stars pricked the sky above. He carried a pair of rabbits, their necks twisted with the same eerie precision Kael had begun to associate with his blood manipulation.
"Not much out there," Lethan said, setting the rabbits down. "The woods are too quiet."
Kael nodded, taking the animals and beginning the process of cleaning them. Soon, the scent of searing meat mingled with the crisp, metallic tang of snow, and the two sat close to the fire, sharing its warmth against the encroaching night.
After they had eaten, Kael leaned back, staring into the dancing flames. The shadows painted strange shapes on the rock walls, shapes that almost seemed to move with a life of their own.
Lethan glanced at him. "Tell me more about this world of yours," he said softly. "You seem to know a lot. About the places… the people…"
Kael gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "All right," he murmured, his voice turning low and rhythmic, like a storyteller conjuring an old legend.
There are six continents on this world," he began. "Ethera, where the sands stretch forever and the air hums with old magic. Zelora, a land of thick jungles and deep rivers where the trees grow taller than towers and beasts with memories older than men roam free. Iuyath, the sky-split isles where the cliffs rise like teeth from the sea, and storms weave between them like serpents."
His gaze turned to Lethan, his eyes dark with the reflection of the firelight. "Then there's Teozin, a land of frozen silence, and Umath, the continent of bone and shadow where the dead are said to walk. And us, we're on Dayis, the southern continent, closest to both Teozin and Umath. It's a place of divided kingdoms and wandering echoes, of old blood feuds and whispered legends."
Lethan's expression remained still, but his eyes were sharp, attentive.
Kael's voice dropped lower, drawing closer to the fire. "But there's something else. Something that ties all these lands together. The Saints."
Lethan's brow furrowed. "The Saints?"
Kael nodded, his voice adopting the cadence of a recitation. "Nine Saints, each a savior from the dark age. They rose when the world was on the brink of ruin, when the gods' echoes had fallen and the beasts threatened to devour everything. The Nine took up arms, binding the echoes to themselves, wielding them to push back the darkness. It's said they walked the line between mortal and divine, wielding the remnants of power left by the fallen gods."
Lethan's voice was quiet. "Their names?"
Kael's lips curled faintly, a trace of bitterness beneath his words. "That's the thing. Most of their names are lost to history. Only a few are known, whispered in the old tongues. There's Riven, the one who shattered the chains of fate. Miraith, the Star-Speaker. And Dahn-Korath, the Forgefather who tamed the flames of the earth. The others… well, the names are gone. Lost, or deliberately erased. Only fragments remain, old songs, half-legends. There sure are people who know of them, but simple mortals like me can't compare to them."
He leaned back, his breath rising in a thin plume. "They say the Saints aren't truly dead. That they walk the world still, watching, waiting. Keeping the balance when the echoes grow too loud."
Lethan's gaze flicked to the distant, ice-bound peaks behind them. His voice was almost a whisper. "And what happens when the balance breaks?"
Kael's smile was thin, shadowed by some private thought. "Then the world starts falling apart again."
The night passed slowly, the silence broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant howl of wind combing the cliffs. Lethan slept lightly, his senses half-wakeful, while Kael dozed fitfully, shifting his weight to ease the ache in his leg. Dawn broke in a pale wash of rose and amber, the first light painting the snow with a faint, fragile warmth.
As they resumed their descent, the terrain subtly changed. The pristine snows of the upper reaches gave way to stretches where the earth showed through. At first, it was patches of dark, frozen soil clawing up through the white, then broader swathes where snow gave way to hard-packed dirt. Here, scraggly, frost-bitten shrubs pushed defiantly through the crusted ground, their roots gripping stubbornly to life.
The air grew less biting, though it still carried the crispness of altitude. The sun climbed higher, and as its rays caught the thinning clouds, a soft sheen bathed the landscape. The wind, which had howled mercilessly above, now whispered through the trees. Lethan noticed the shift first,the scent of the air was different, carrying with it the faintest traces of loam and leaf rot, of earth reawakening from ice. It was subtle, but it promised that their descent was nearing its end.
Kael limped beside him, his pace steadier though every step clearly sent jolts of pain up his leg. Still, his eyes were brighter, his voice less strained when he muttered, "We're almost through. Past this ridge, and we'll see the valley."
True to his word, as they crested a gentle rise, the trees thinned, and the land sloped away into a broad, sweeping vista. Before them lay the valley, cradled by undulating hills and edged by dark woodlands. Nestled at its heart, the city emerged from the mist like a vision conjured from another time.
The city, Hargrave, rose in layers of stone and timber, a medieval jewel cradled in the hollow of the land. Thick stone wall ringed the outer edges of grand mansions, punctuated by towers with conical roofs of dull slate. Beyond, clustered rooftops formed a patchwork of red clay tiles and dark wood, with narrow alleys threading between them like veins. At the city's center, a tall spire soared upward, a bell tower or perhaps the keep of a lord's estate, its silhouette stark against the soft blue sky. Faint wisps of smoke curled from chimneys, and banners fluttered from poles, their colors indistinct at this distance.
Kael stopped at the crest, breathing heavily. "Hargrave," he murmured, almost reverently. "Not the largest city, but we can hide here for a while."
Lethan's sharp eyes scanned the valley, noting not just the city, but the roads leading in and out, the veins of trade and travel, the lifelines of the settlements. He marked the forests surrounding the southern approach and the open fields to the north, where caravans might move and patrols might ride.
The sky above them was clearing, though faint traces of the mountain's wrath still lingered as low-hanging clouds. Yet even as the sun warmed the valley and the icy peaks of the Shattered Crest receded behind them, a faint unease threaded through the air. The wind shifted, carrying with it a whisper of something more, a storm brewing not in the sky, but in the weave of events itself.
Kael glanced at Lethan, his expression cautious. "Let's head down, we will take another route and hide in the slums."
* * * * *
Inside a grand mansion inside Hargrave, deep within the fortified estate of House Teryn, the great hall stood cloaked in heavy shadows. Lord Teryn himself sat upon the high-backed chair at the head of a long table carved from blackwood, his hands resting lightly upon its arms. The hall was quiet but for the low crackle of the hearth and the soft whisper of tapestries stirred by a faint breeze.
A messenger, clad in the understated but well-crafted garb of the Iron Ledger, stepped forward and bowed deeply. His face bore the pale fatigue of one who had ridden long and hard.
"My lord," the messenger said, voice respectful. "The Iron Ledger extends its greetings. I come bearing news from Daren himself."
Teryn's eyes, a cool, calculating gray, regarded the man without surprise. "Let me guess," he said, voice smooth as silk. "Kael has escaped."
The messenger hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, my lord. He was last seen fleeing into the lower reaches of the Shattered Crest. We believe he is accompanied by another, a young man with white hair, we don't know who he is."
Teryn's lips curled faintly, though it was not quite a smile. "As I expected."
The messenger's brow furrowed. "Daren sends a question, my lord. He asks… Does Kael have any known connections to the cults that plague Iuyath? Or to a direct descendant of the Saints?"
For the first time, a flicker of something, surprise? Concern? It touched Teryn's expression. It passed almost immediately, replaced by a practiced calm. "A descendant of the Saints?" he echoed softly, as though tasting the words. "No… no, not to my knowledge."
But his eyes narrowed, thoughtful. After a moment's silence, he added, "Tell Daren I'll inform him if I discover anything… noteworthy."
The messenger bowed deeply. "As you command, my lord."
Without further ceremony, he turned and departed, his boots echoing on the stone floor as he was escorted from the hall by a pair of silent guards. The heavy doors closed behind him, sealing the room in stillness once more.
Teryn remained seated for a moment, his gaze distant, lost in some private calculation. Then, with a soft sigh, he straightened and gestured to a servant waiting in the shadows.
"Send for the Seer," he said quietly.
The servant bowed and slipped away, leaving Teryn alone with the crackling fire and the deepening shadows.
Outside, the sky darkened, and though the winds in the valley had stilled, a new storm gathered unseen, one that would not be broken by sunlight.