They kept climbing.
Up.
And up.
The path narrowed into something barely deserving the name — wet stones, roots like traps, wind pushing hard against every step. Ling moved ahead, steady, calculating, cutting through resistance like she always did.
Rhea followed.
At first, silently.
Then her breathing changed.
"You always choose the worst routes," Rhea said between breaths, irritation laced with exhaustion. "Is this part of your legend too?"
Ling didn't slow. "If you're tired, say it."
"I'm not tired," Rhea snapped. "I'm just not obsessed with proving something to a forest."
Ling glanced back briefly. "Then stop taunting and conserve energy."
Rhea laughed bitterly. "You don't get to lecture me about control after breaking the bike."
Ling stopped.
Turned.
Rain streaked down her face, hair damp, jacket heavy — but her eyes were sharp, unwavering.
"I didn't abandon you," Ling said quietly. "You're still alive. Focus."
Rhea opened her mouth to retort—
—and the wind died.
Abruptly.
Too abruptly.
The forest went still.
Leaves stopped shaking. Rain softened into a thin, whispering drizzle.
Then—
The woman stepped out again.
Same hunched frame. Same wild hair. Same eyes that looked like they belonged to the woods, not a person.
Rhea froze.
Her blood went cold.
Ling shifted instinctively, placing herself between Rhea and the woman.
"You didn't listen," the woman said, voice low, carrying without effort.
"You climbed when you were warned."
Rhea's voice shook despite her will. "You said forward leads to truth."
The woman's mouth curved — not a smile.
"And truth kills the unready."
She lifted a crooked finger and pointed back down the path they'd come from.
"Go back," she said.
"Down. Now. If you want to live."
Thunder rolled far away — not above them.
Behind them.
Rhea's breath came shallow. "What's up here?"
The woman's gaze slid to Ling — lingered longer.
"Old ground," she murmured. "Proud ground. It punishes those who think they cannot fall."
Ling didn't flinch. "Is there shelter below?"
Then her eyes hardened.
Wind surged again.
Leaves lashed violently.
And just like before, the woman stepped back — and vanished into the trees as if she had never existed at all.
Silence returned.
Rhea exhaled shakily. "That's not normal."
Ling stared down the path they'd been climbing — then back toward the descent.
Her jaw tightened.
"No," Ling agreed. "It's not."
Ling looked at Rhea. "We shouldn't listen."
Rhea held her gaze for a long second.
Then she nodded once.
Ling held Rhea hand in her's grip firm, grounding, undeniable.
They started together, rain picking up again, the forest alive with sound once more.
They climbed.
Higher.
Steeper.
The forest thinned, trees shrinking into twisted silhouettes. The ground straightened but turned uneven — slabs of rock, loose gravel, sudden drops hidden under moss. Every step demanded attention.
Wind cut sharper here.
Rhea wrapped her arms around herself, teeth chattering despite her effort to hide it. "Great decision," she muttered. "Absolutely flawless leadership."
Ling didn't reply.
Her focus was locked on footing, angles, distance — but the cold was creeping in even through her jacket. The sky darkened again, clouds folding over each other like bruises.
Then—
Rain.
Not light.
Not playful.
Cold, slanting sheets that soaked instantly.
Temperature dropped fast.
Ten degrees.
Maybe lower with the wind.
Rhea's lips started to pale.
"This isn't funny anymore," she said, voice shaking now. "Ling—"
"I know," Ling cut in, sharper than intended. She stopped suddenly, scanning the terrain. No trees thick enough. No caves visible. Just exposed rock and rising wind.
Thunder cracked overhead.
Too close.
Rain plastered Rhea's clothes to her skin, metal of her jewelry cold and biting. She hugged herself tighter, shoulders trembling.
Ling turned fully to her now.
For the first time since they ignored the warning, Ling's confidence fractured — just slightly.
"You're shaking," Ling said.
Rhea scoffed weakly. "Congratulations. You discovered weather."
Ling stepped closer, blocking some of the wind without thinking. "This altitude isn't safe in rain."
"And whose idea was it to climb?" Rhea snapped back — but her voice broke at the end.
Ling swallowed.
Silence stretched, filled with rain and wind and regret neither would name.
Another gust slammed into them, forcing Rhea back a step. Ling caught her wrist instantly.
"Don't let go," Ling said, grip firm now.
Rhea looked at their joined hands — rain dripping from their fingers — then up at Ling's face. Anger was still there. Pride too.
But fear was louder.
"I'm cold," Rhea admitted quietly.
Ling didn't hesitate.
She pulled Rhea closer, chest to chest, wrapping her jacket partially around both of them, sacrificing warmth without comment.
Rhea stiffened — then slowly leaned in, forehead brushing Ling's collarbone.
"I told you not to choose alone," Rhea whispered, remembering the woman's words.
Ling closed her eyes for half a second.
"I know," she said. "That's on me."
Thunder rolled again.
The path ahead vanished into mist.
Behind them — just as dangerous.
Ling exhaled slowly, grounding herself.
"We need shelter," she said. "Now. Even temporary."
Rhea nodded against her, voice barely audible. "Just don't leave me."
Ling's arm tightened around her.
"I won't," she said — not as a promise to impress, but as a fact.
The storm howled louder, rain soaking them through.
And somewhere below, the forest remembered their choice.