CHAPTER 419: CHAPTER 419: WHAT THE FUCK—WHY IS EVERYTHING A PROBLEM ON THIS MOUNTAIN?!

Kindly revisit Chapters 417 and 418 — the duplicates have been corrected, and the Chapters are now in their proper order. Please reread them for the updated version."

...

The moment the glowing little spirit realized where it was—it screamed.

A sharp, high-pitched sound like the wind itself tearing apart. Its tiny wings fluttered wildly as it spun midair, eyes wide, translucent face twisting in alarm.

It turned in frantic circles, scanning the mist, and then—spotting Isabella—its expression crumpled into sheer panic.

"You—you shouldn’t have pressed the button!" it squeaked, voice shrill. "Why did you summon me?! Why would you summon me here?!"

"What—what do you mean here?" Isabella stammered, clutching her fan tighter.

The spirit threw its tiny hands up dramatically, spinning again. "I was with my friends! We were dancing in the high winds of the eastern ridge! It was peaceful! Beautiful! And now I’m—" it paused, glancing over its shoulder at the shifting goats closing in, "—in a demonic feeding ground!"

It whirled on Isabella, glaring—or trying to, with its tiny glowing face. "The fan should’ve been enough! Why couldn’t you just swing it like a normal person?!"

Isabella blinked, utterly lost. "Excuse me? I’m the one being attacked by nightmare goats!"

The spirit groaned, dragging its little translucent hands down its glowing face. "Oh stars, I knew this host was going to be high maintenance."

And that’s when it froze—finally realizing the creatures weren’t just illusions. The color (well, light) drained from its tiny body.

"Oh... oh no," it whispered, eyes wide. "This isn’t just a battle. This is—"

It turned to Isabella in horror. "You really shouldn’t have pressed that button."

Isabella flinched, startled. "What the hell is your problem?!"

The spirit didn’t answer immediately—it was spinning, scanning the air, as if searching for something unseen. Then, suddenly, its voice—small and echoing like a whisper trapped inside a storm—shook.

"They’re here!"

The air rippled.

Isabella froze, every muscle in her body tightening. She didn’t even know what "they" meant anymore—because the mist around her had begun to move again, shifting like it was breathing.

The creatures were circling. Their faint outlines flickered through the fog, limbs bending at unnatural angles, grins stretching across too-wide mouths.

The wind spirit darted in front of her, spinning so fast it left a small cyclone in its wake. Its voice, though soft, carried sharp urgency. "Don’t let them touch your shadow!"

"What?!" Isabella snapped, panic slipping into anger. "What shadow—?"

The spirit darted closer, grabbing a strand of her hair like a scolding child. "They eat it. Your shadow. Your reflection. Anything that belongs to you."

Isabella’s blood ran cold. She looked down—and sure enough, her shadow wavered faintly on the cracked ground, thin under the strange light, stretching unnaturally behind her.

"What the fuck—why is everything a problem on this mountain?!" she hissed under her breath, clutching her fan tightly.

But before she could say anything else, one of the goat-like creatures lunged from the mist—straight for her back.

The spirit moved faster.

It darted like lightning, slamming its small body into the creature’s face. The beast shrieked, stumbling backward, its illusion flickering. Its body rippled like smoke before tearing apart into fragments of light.

Isabella blinked, stunned. "You—you actually—"

"Don’t thank me!" the spirit squeaked, spinning frantically. "They’ll regroup! They always regroup! Just don’t let them touch your shadow!"

"Yeah, great advice, totally helpful," Isabella muttered sarcastically, but her voice trembled. "What do you mean regroup—?"

"Fight them!" the spirit cried, darting between her and the shadows. "They feed on emotion—the fear, the anger, the sadness. The more you feel it, the stronger they become!"

"What the fuck does that even mean?!" Isabella’s voice cracked. "You can literally float! Why don’t you fight them?!"

The spirit’s glow flickered, like it was embarrassed. "I—I’m only a fragment! You’re the one with the fan! You have more power than me!"

"More—?" She nearly laughed, but it came out as a half-sob. "I can barely breathe, and you think I can fight this?"

"You can," the spirit insisted, voice softer now. "You’re stronger when you stop fearing them."

Isabella froze. Her breath hitched.

Her fingers trembled as she looked at the fan—its gold edges gleaming faintly in the mist. The energy around it hummed, answering her heartbeat.

They feed on emotion.

The wind spirit’s words looped in her head.

Her chest still heaved from panic, but somewhere in that chaos, a single thought broke through: she’d faced worse.

That giant—

That beast—

That nightmare that almost crushed her to dust.

She’d danced then.

She’d danced because she felt that was the only way she could defeat it then.

Her gaze dropped to her feet, bare and dirt-streaked against the cold ground. The wind brushed past her ankles—gentle at first, then stronger, like it remembered her. The mountain’s energy stirred beneath her skin, threading through her veins.

Isabella straightened slowly. Her back uncurled, her spine aligning with quiet resolve.

Her trembling stopped.

The creatures hissed in the mist, whispering her fears again—her mother’s voice, Cyrus’s voice, every echo of heartbreak clawing at her sanity—but this time, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t run.

She closed her eyes.

She inhaled deeply—one breath, then another. The mountain’s air tasted cold and sharp, but there was something else in it now: rhythm. Flow. The quiet pulse of power waiting to be claimed.

Her grip tightened around the fan. She turned her wrist. The pink silk caught the wind, shimmering faintly.

The wind spirit hovered beside her, watching silently now. Its glow softened, as if sensing the shift in her energy.

Isabella opened her eyes again.

They weren’t trembling anymore.

She could see the monsters now—not just their illusions, but the flickers beneath them. Their real forms—those twisted, childlike figures of flesh and smoke, their smiles carved too deep, their eyes glassy like broken marbles. They weren’t moving fast anymore. They weren’t rushing her. They were circling—like predators savoring the fear before the strike.

And she was done giving them that satisfaction.

A cold smile curved her lips.

She rolled her shoulders back, fanned the silk open with a sharp snap, and tilted her head slightly, a dangerous glint flashing in her eyes.

"Fine then..." she murmured, her voice steady now, low and sharp as the wind itself.

Her fan glowed brighter, the markings pulsing with her heartbeat. The wind around her coiled tighter, whispering her name.

She raised the fan slowly, the silk humming like a living thing, her body swaying lightly with the rhythm of the air.

Her pulse synced with the breeze.

And then—she smirked.

"You want to dance?"

The air rippled, the creatures flinched, and the wind itself seemed to hold its breath.

Her fan snapped open again, glowing bright as firelight.

"Let’s fucking dance."