"What rank does your guide hold?"
The question hung in the air between them.
Cel's pulse quickened. It was a normal question to ask a Chosen. Nothing unusual about it.
Yet his instincts told him otherwise.
"Forty-seven," he lied, forcing the words to come slowly, casually.
Raven's crimson eyes studied him with that unsettling intensity.
Heat crawled up Cel's neck. His hands curled slightly at his sides.
"She's..." The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "She's the most beautiful person I've ever seen."
The admission felt like throwing himself off a cliff. But it was true - viscerally, undeniably true. And perhaps that truth would explain away the nervousness that had crept into his voice.
Raven went still for a moment. Then something in his face changed - the hard line of his mouth eased, the sharpness in those crimson eyes softened. It happened fast, a flicker of something unguarded before his expression settled back into place.
"I see." His hand dropped from Cel's shoulder.
He turned toward the mountain without another word. But the tension that had been coiled in his frame was gone, replaced by something that almost resembled satisfaction.
Cel forced himself to breathe normally, watching Raven's back as he began walking.
'What was that about?'
The thought circled through his mind, but dwelling on it wouldn't help. Whatever Raven had been looking for in that question, Cel could only hope his lie - buried in obvious truth - had been enough.
The mountain rose before them, dark stone jutting against the crimson sky.
Raven's stride remained confident and measured, giving no indication that anything significant had just transpired.
Cel followed, boots crunching against ash-covered earth.
But something had shifted in the air between them - subtle, almost imperceptible. Like a door that had been tested and found secure.
For now.
Cel resumed his scanning pattern he'd developed over hours of walking. Scan left. Center. Right. Searching the wasteland for movement, for threats, for anything out of place.
His eyes caught on a distant speck against the crimson sky.
Black feathers. Red-tipped wings folding at angles that made no sense.
The Ember Stalker.
It circled once, lazy and deliberate, then began descending.
Cel's hand drifted to his side, ready to summon Silent Moon. The bird's previous behavior meant nothing. It had ignored him while feeding on the Ashlurker's corpse - that didn't guarantee it would continue to ignore him now.
The creature landed perhaps thirty steps ahead, its too-thin legs finding purchase on an obsidian fragment. That elongated neck bent, and a single crimson eye fixed on them with disturbing intelligence.
Raven's stride never faltered.
He walked forward as if the Ember Stalker weren't there.
Cel remained frozen for a heartbeat, watching the bird. Then he forced his legs to move, closing the distance to Raven's side quickly.
Not because he trusted Raven.
Because nothing attacked Raven. And right now, that protection mattered more than his suspicions.
The bird tilted its head. It hopped from the stone, landing in the ash with barely a sound.
Then it took flight, wings unfolding in sharp angles before it vanished beyond a cluster of broken ruins.
Cel's shoulders remained tight.
"It's following us," he said quietly.
"Just ignore it." Raven didn't even glance at the bird. "It's been circling since we left the Ashlurker."
Cel said nothing, but his hand stayed ready at his side.
They walked in silence. Minutes stretched into an hour, then longer. The mountain grew steadily, details emerging from what had been a distant smudge - dark stone weathered smooth in places, and something else that made Cel slow his pace.
The peak was wrong.
Not the sharp summit he'd expected, but a flat line cutting across the top. And below it, dark trails carved down the mountainside in branching patterns that looked almost organic.
"Is that water?" The question escaped before he could think about it. "Frozen water, or... stone?"
Raven's gaze tracked upward, following the frozen rivers of stone.
"Neither." He moved further, studying the trails with quiet intensity.
The trails became clearer as they approached the mountain's base - solidified flows hardened into permanent scars that wound across the slopes, some as wide as roads, others thin as veins. The surface had a glassy sheen where it caught the light, black with hints of deep red bleeding through cracks.
"Magma," Raven said. "Dried magma."
The word made Cel's chest tighten.
"That's a volcano."
"Was a volcano." Raven gestured toward the frozen flows. "Look at it. Completely solid. The weathering alone would take centuries."
Cel stared at those black scars, his mind supplying images of molten rock fountaining from the flattened peak. The earth opening to vomit destruction across the wasteland.
"Centuries doesn't mean it won't erupt again."
"Nothing is certain." Raven's tone remained calm. "Either we climb and see what's out there, or we wander blind."
The logic was sound, even if his instincts screamed otherwise.
Cel's gaze tracked up the mountain's slopes toward that flattened peak. From that height, any rift in a wide range would be visible.
"Fine," he said finally. "We climb."
The transition from ash to stone was abrupt. One moment his boots crunched against the wasteland's familiar texture, the next they scraped against volcanic rock - rough and pitted with tiny holes where gas had escaped during cooling.
Raven gripped the stone and pulled himself up with practiced efficiency. His movements were fluid despite the exertion, muscles working beneath his clothing as he found holds and tested weight before committing.
Cel followed, his fingers finding purchase easily. Even his injured hand obeyed, though the numbness from Frostmark's cold was still there.
They climbed in silence, the only sounds the scrape of boots against stone and their breathing.
After perhaps half an hour, Raven's breathing had grown noticeably heavier. Not gasping, but labored in a way that suggested real exertion. Sweat darkened his collar despite the cooling air.
Cel's own breathing remained steady. Easy. His muscles worked without complaint, showing no sign of the fatigue that should have set in by now.
The light began to shift.
Crimson bled toward deeper red. Shadows lengthened across the mountain's face. Day transitioned to evening, and with it came the moon - pale light washing over the darkening sky.
The change rippled through Cel's body as Lunar Vigor awakened. Energy flooded his limbs, washing away the last traces of exertion. His movements became easier with each passing minute. Every handhold felt secure, every foothold solid.
Ahead, Raven's pace was slowing. His grip on the stone looked tight enough to hurt, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He moved with the same efficiency, but the ease had vanished - replaced by visible effort.
The contrast grew more pronounced with each passing minute. As the moon climbed higher, as true night settled over the Ashlands, Cel felt himself growing stronger while Raven's movements became increasingly labored.
They crested the rim as the last trace of crimson faded from the sky.
The peak wasn't a summit at all - just a flattened ring of stone perhaps fifty steps wide, forming a perfect circle around the volcano's throat.
Cel pulled himself over the edge and straightened, his gaze immediately drawn to the center.
The crater yawned before them - a circular pit dropping into darkness. But even without seeing the bottom, the dried magma flows were visible along the inner walls, frozen mid-cascade in overlapping layers that spoke of multiple eruptions over time.
No heat shimmered above the opening. No steam rose from the depths. The air was no warmer here than it had been at the base.
The volcano was dead. Completely dead.
Raven hauled himself over the rim with visible effort, his chest heaving. He moved away from the edge and sank against an outcropping of stone, sweat coating his face despite the night's chill.
Cel remained standing, feeling the moon's light wash over him like liquid energy. His wounds still throbbed, but distantly - as if the pain belonged to someone else.
The bird appeared, landing on the rim's opposite side. It folded its wings and settled into that same watchful stillness, crimson eye gleaming in the moonlight.
Cel ignored it, his attention tracking across the flattened peak. The stone was mostly barren - volcanic rock weathered smooth in places, jagged in others. But near the crater's edge, where the rim curved inward slightly, a section of stone had collapsed into itself, creating a shallow depression perhaps three body-lengths across.
Not shelter, exactly. But better than sleeping exposed on open stone.
"There," Cel said, gesturing toward the depression.
Raven's gaze followed, then he nodded once. He pushed himself upright with visible effort and crossed to the collapsed section.
The depression was deeper than it had looked - perhaps waist-high at its center, the walls formed by broken stone that offered some protection. The floor was relatively flat, covered in a thin layer of ash that had accumulated over time.
Raven settled against one wall immediately, his breathing still heavy.
Cel remained standing, his gaze sweeping across the Ashlands spread below. The wasteland stretched endlessly in every direction, bathed in pale moonlight that turned the ash silver. From this height, he could see for leagues - every ruin, every scattered stone, every shadow that might hide danger.
But no rifts. No tears in reality glowing with otherworldly light.
Just endless gray beneath the moon's cold gaze.
"Tomorrow," Raven said quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion. "When it's light. We'll see better."
Cel nodded, though Raven's eyes were already closed.
He moved to the opposite wall and settled against it, letting Cinderward's cloak pool around him. His body felt ready to run, to fight, to do anything except rest.
But Raven needed sleep. And searching for rifts in darkness would accomplish nothing.
So Cel sat, his gaze tracking between the bird still perched on the rim and the wasteland below.
Waiting for dawn.
Waiting to see if this climb had been worth.