The peak of the mountain was a brutal expanse of ice and jagged stone, lashed by the tail end of the storm. Zeven stood at the edge of the plateau, his form silhouetted against the dim, grey light of the approaching dawn. The air was thin and biting, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat of the laboratory he had escaped. Beneath his boots, the ice groaned, shifting under the weight of his resolve. He could see the palace ahead, its massive, dark walls rising from the frozen landscape like a fortress of despair. The back gate, a heavy construction of reinforced iron, stood slightly ajar, as if inviting him into the maw of his own demise.
He felt the ghostly presence of his ancestors still woven into his spirit, their cold, unwavering strength anchoring him to the ridge. They were his ar
