The Weeping Caves earned their ominous name from the incessant, echoing drip of glacial meltwater that seeped through the porous, jagged rock of the eastern ridge. The sound was relentless, a mournful, rhythmic chorus that echoed endlessly, bouncing off the cold walls like the whispers of lost souls. Each droplet seemed to carry a memory, a whisper of pain and despair that had long seeped into the very stones. The cavern was alive with this sound, a haunting lullaby that chilled the bones and unsettled the mind, as if the mountain itself mourned its cursed history.
As I stepped through the freezing curtain of the hidden waterfall, the biting cold immediately seeped into the thick wool of my leggings and the heavy leather of my tunic. The fur-lined cloak Callum had wrapped around my should
