The camp clung to the alcove like a dying ember.
Torches guttered in the thin air, flames bending sideways in the mountain wind, shadows pooling and stretching toward the yawning chasm below. Exhaustion pressed heavier than steel—bodies slumped against rock, wounds bound too tightly or not enough, eyes hollow and unfocused.
Far within the pass, the Frost Venom Fang roared.
Not close.
Not gone.
Its distant thunder vibrated through stone and bone alike—a reminder that the mountain remembered them.
Levi sat with his back against the cliff, Mira curled beside him for warmth, her breaths shallow with fatigue. Torin remained upright, spear laid across his knees, eyes scanning the darkness with grim vigilance. The venom burn on his leg throbbed beneath Mira's bandage, but he did not speak of it.
Fewer than ten servants remained now.
The rest were blood beneath the snow.
The guards moved along the perimeter, armor whispering softly as they passed. Above them, the blue sun retreated, bleeding the sky into deep indigo. As dusk settled, howls echoed from the slopes—
Aaaauuu—
long, probing cries.
The ghouls came cautiously at first.
Single shapes darted at the edge of torchlight—gaunt silhouettes that retreated when spears thrust forward. But as true night fell, the probing grew bolder. Packs tested the perimeter, claws scraping stone, eyes gleaming in the dark.
Cassian stood at the camp's center.
Whip coiled at his belt. Sword drawn.
When five ghouls burst from the upslope shadows in a sudden coordinated rush, the perimeter faltered. Servants scrambled back, guards shouted warnings—
Cassian stepped forward alone.
The world seemed to slow.
His movement blurred—inhumanly fast. Torchlight smeared into streaks as steel sang through the air.
SHRRK—SHRRK—SHRRK
Three strikes.
Black ichor sprayed, freezing mid-arc. Bodies came apart before they hit the ground—heads rolling, torsos collapsing, limbs severed cleanly in mid-leap. The five ghouls lay twitching in the snow before the echoes faded.
Cassian sheathed his blade with a soft, final click.
Silence followed.
Servants stared. Whispers rippled through the camp like wind through dry grass. That speed—
That precision—
It was not human.
Torin muttered low, never taking his eyes off the man.
"Not his first climb."
The attacks dwindled after that. The ghouls withdrew, frustrated cries echoing into the night.
But one slipped through.
A lone ghoul—smaller, smarter—slid past a distracted guard, hugging the shadows toward the wounded clustered deep in the alcove.
Toward Mira.
She was kneeling beside a fallen servant, hands glowing faintly as she tried to ease frostbite's grip, when the thing lunged—
Levi shouted.
Torin hurled his spear—
Too slow.
Cassian was already there.
He intercepted the creature mid-bound, blade punching clean through its chest. The ghoul thrashed, claws snapping inches from Mira's face. Cassian twisted the sword and tore it free, black ichor spraying across the snow as the body collapsed at his feet.
He stood between Mira and the corpse.
A wall.
Mira stared up at him, trembling. One heartbeat slower—
Cassian glanced down, expression unreadable.
"Useful tools shouldn't break yet," he said gruffly. "The mountain's not done with you."
Then he turned away, barking orders, as if nothing had happened.
But the act lingered.
Saved.
Whispers returned—quieter now.
Cassian wasn't just cruel.
Later, during a lull in the watch, when the howls faded and torches burned low, a wiry servant with a bandaged arm approached him near the fire. Cassian sat sharpening his sword, whetstone rasping in steady rhythm.
"Why do this?" the servant asked quietly. "You've the skill to climb alone."
Cassian didn't look up.
"I've climbed Blackwind before," he said at last. "Same robes. Same red door."
The servant froze.
"The mountain changes you," Cassian continued, voice distant. "Power waits at the summit—strength, time. But it takes first. Breaks the weak. Forges the rest."
The whetstone stopped.
"I guard because the Spell demands it," he said. "And because I remember bleeding in the snow."
He stood. The conversation ended.
Dawn brought no warmth.
A venom-tainted wind rolled down from the pass—greenish, acrid, glowing faintly as it swept into the alcove. Servants nearest the opening collapsed first, coughing violently. Skin blistered. Breaths turned ragged as poison filled their lungs.
Cassian moved instantly.
"Antidotes!" he barked.
Guards produced small vials—clear liquid, hoarded until now. Cassian pressed them into shaking hands. "Drink. All of it."
When the wind surged stronger, Torin staggered. Mira gagged, vision swimming. Levi's legs buckled—
Cassian plunged into the fumes himself, cloak over his mouth. He dragged bodies into deeper cover, hauled Levi upright by the collar, shoved Mira behind a rock outcrop, slung Torin over his shoulder like a sack of stone.
"Stay low," he growled. "Breathe slow."
The wind passed.
More bodies lay still.
But Levi's group lived.
As the column reformed, Levi watched Cassian mount his beast. The man's face was impassive—but the cracks were there now.
Reluctant mercy.
Rare.
Dangerous.
The summit loomed closer.
And Blackwind Mountain sharpened its claws.