CHAPTER 140: BREATHLESS CLIMBING

The slope gradually steepened, the low grasses giving way to gray rockslides and bare patches of earth battered by wind. The barely visible trail wound between eroded granite boulders that stood like silent sentinels.

Maggie led the way, her gaze scanning the ground with hawk-like intensity, evaluating each foothold, each shadow cast by the rocks. There was no more walking in a straight line: they had to weave between unstable zones, loose stones, steep inclines where a single misstep could be fatal.

Élisa, just behind, had become their living compass. She no longer walked, but floated a few centimeters off the ground, her body tilted forward slightly, carried by her spear pointed like a rudder. Her eyes were half-closed, and her sigil pulsed with a steady, almost peaceful emerald light.

She perceived the world differently now that she had awakened. Her elven senses had sharpened somewhat, and all the training she’d undergone before becoming a hunter now proved very useful.

"Left," she said softly, with a small hand motion. Maggie immediately veered, skirting a large slab of shale that appeared solid. As they passed, Dylan nudged a small pebble that rolled onto the slab. It wobbled ever so slightly, revealing a dark void underneath. A natural, hidden trap.

Higher up, the wind turned sharper, carrying the scent of cold dust and mountain lichen. The path narrowed between two steep walls—a tight corridor where echoes rang strangely. Élisa slowed, a faint crease on her forehead. Her spear vibrated almost imperceptibly.

"Let’s stop," she murmured, her voice carried along the narrow wind. "Up ahead... it’s faint, but... better stay alert."

Three pairs of eyes scanned the overhanging ridges. Nothing stirred among the jagged rocks. Yet tension settled like a fog. Maggie pointed with her chin toward a partial landslide on their right—a longer detour, but out of sight from above.

Without a word, they left the corridor, carefully stepping over unstable stones and melting into the shadows of the wall. Dylan, at the rear, kept watch behind them, Jian held low but ready, posture relaxed but alert. No jokes from him this time—none came to mind. His focus was absolute.

They continued in cautious spurts for nearly an hour. Élisa guided their detours: a tight turn to avoid a zone where the air crackled with static energy, invisible but tangible to her; a wide arc through a grassy hollow to avoid the acrid, metallic scent of a hidden den; a swift crossing of a windswept plateau where the ground rang hollow, betraying underground cavities.

Fatigue returned—dull, but different. Not as crushing as after the boar fight, but more like a slow wear on nerves and muscles stretched too far. Eventually, Maggie picked a spot for a short rest: a small rocky niche overlooking both the path behind and the way ahead, shielded on three sides.

"Take a breather," she said simply, leaning against the cool stone, eyes still scanning the slopes below. No fire this time—too exposed.

Élisa gently lowered her spear to the ground and sat on it like an invisible stool, eyes closed, immersing herself in pure concentration. Her sigil glowed faintly, sketching energy patterns across her skin. She was mentally mapping the flows nearby, searching for friction points and hostile energy pockets.

Dylan remained standing, leaning at the entrance of the niche, facing outward. He bit into a piece of grilled meat, eyes narrowing toward the misty horizon. "The pass is over there," he said finally, nodding toward a dark notch between two barren peaks, still distant. "Looks like the slope eases up after that."

Maggie followed his gaze. "Yes. But between here and there... it’s the most exposed part." She pointed at a wide, barren slope with just a few scattered boulders. A perfect hunting ground for aerial predators or hidden sentinels. "There won’t be any quick escape."

Élisa opened her eyes. "The energy there is... diffuse. No active threats right now. But the wind’s strong. It carries everything far." Meaning: sound, scent, movement.

"We cross quickly and quietly," Maggie ordered. "No breaks. No extra noise. Dylan, you lead. Your stride’s longer. Élisa, you stay in the center, low to the ground, focus on your psychic shield if needed. I’ll cover the rear."

They all nodded—no protest. The logic was ironclad. They finished their sparse meal in silence, each taking a warm gulp of water. Then, without a sound, they set off.

Dylan went first, using long, fluid strides that devoured distance without extra sound. He avoided loose stones, somehow sensing the safest ground. Élisa followed close behind, nearly touching his back, hovering just above the earth to minimize drag and visibility.

Her psychic aura, subtle but present, formed a cocoon of awareness around them. Maggie brought up the rear, her steps silent as a panther, her eyes flicking constantly to the peaks and skies behind. Her flail-halberd was out, low along her leg, ready to be raised or hurled in a heartbeat.

The wind whistled around them, a cold, monotonous song. The air was thin, every breath shorter. They crossed the open slope like quick-moving shadows, leaving behind only the soft rustle of dry grass beneath stealthy feet. No cries pierced the silence. No ominous shadows darkened the sky.

When they finally reached the relative shelter of boulders marking the start of the incline toward the pass, a simultaneous sigh escaped their lips. They didn’t stop—the climb ahead was gentle—but the worst exposure was behind them. Caution remained, but the grip on their chests loosened slightly. The pass—and what lay beyond—awaited.

⸻

And so a week passed.

Seven days and seven nights of carving their way into the hostile flank of the mountains. Beyond the pass, the going had grown even harder: a maze of narrow ravines, jagged peaks scarred by ancient storms, and high plateaus swept by winds that threatened to flay them. The cold, now constant, bit into their bones despite their layers of fur and scavenged hides. The thinning air made every climb a slow, breathless struggle.

A rhythm had formed: walking before dawn, a short pause at midday when the sun beat down too hard, then on again until dusk. Nights were tense vigils, huddled under rocky overhangs or cramped crevices, taking turns to watch the dark for threats they couldn’t yet name. No fire. Just cold, and vigilance.

Fatigue had become a constant companion—dull, persistent. It nestled into sore muscles, into heavy eyelids, into the slow edge of movement. But it did not cripple. It refined. Each step, each rest, each bite of food was a negotiation with survival.

Maggie led with iron resolve, her sharp gaze missing nothing—deceptive snowfields, brittle ledges, faint claw marks in the mineral dust. Dylan’s humor had faded beneath layers of grit and exhaustion. Three days ago he had finally stopped complaining about needing a bath.

Élisa was their anchor and their probe. Her control of the sigil grew sharper under the pressure of altitude and wild elemental flows. Her floating was steadier, more efficient, as if she’d learned to surf the mountain’s own rhythms. Eyes often half-shut, she read the invisible: unstable air currents, wild essence residues, minute energetic tremors.

Her sigil glowed in the dark—a green lantern pulsing gently in the night. Mapping, always mapping. A flick of her wrist or a murmur on the wind was enough now to redirect their course, steering them away from a poisoned cliff or a pass crackling with invisible psychic violence.

They moved in perfect silence, communicating through glances and terse gestures. They understood each other without words. Trust forged in exposed battle had become unshakable coordination. Each covered the others’ blind spots, reached out just in time when a foot slipped. Their scant provisions—dried meat, bitter roots, precious water—were shared without hesitation.

Threats were constant but vague: distant howls of unknown beasts, the fleeting shadow of a flying predator, the oppressive sense of being watched. They had dodged more than they had fought, favoring stealth and clever detours in a terrain that clearly didn’t favor them.

Only once had a chameleon-like reptilian beast sprung from a cliff face. And it had lasted mere seconds—Élisa’s psychic burst disoriented it, Dylan’s Jian slashed deep, and Maggie’s flail crushed the rest. A brutal reminder of the latent violence buried in this mineral world.

Now, after seven days of relentless climbing, bitter cold, and unwavering tension—they stood at the edge.

Ahead, the slope leveled abruptly. The last jagged peaks lay behind. And spreading out before their squinting eyes, bathed in the slanting morning light beyond the final ridge...

The mountain was no longer as harsh as before.

But truth be told... that wasn’t reassuring in the slightest.

It wasn’t the end of danger — just a change of shape. A kind of molting. The stone had stopped wounding them. But now it felt more like it was watching.

Farther down, the ground grew softer, yes, the slopes gentler, yes... but beneath their feet, the earth pulsed strangely. As if it were breathing in reverse. As if this world was just waiting for an excuse to vomit up whatever it had buried.

Shapes flickered between the twisted trees from time to time, green and greasy glows seeping between the branches. Sounds too wet to be leaves. Too dry to be footsteps.

And it wasn’t just one. Or two.

It was... swarming.