The fourth morning arrived with a stillness so profound it felt as if the mountain had been encased in glass. Kaspar was still caught in that halfway state. He looked less like a nightmare now, and more like a weary god carved from cedar and stone. His breathing was deep and steady, his body finally mending the damage.
I needed to move. My joints felt stiff from sitting vigil, and the air in the main chamber was thick with the scent of dried blood and medicinal herbs.
I remembered a passage in Gisela’s journal about a “garden of glass.” She’d written that it was a place where the mountain breathed. It was located behind a heavy iron door in the south passage.
Taking a small lantern, I made my way toward the dark tunnel. I expected to find the same rotted scent of the Ur-Beast, but th
