The eastern mountains rose like jagged teeth against the bruised sky, grey and unwelcoming. I walked alone, each step heavier than the last, the silence pressing in around me. No birds sang. No wind stirred the trees. There was only the crunch of stone beneath my boots, the ache in my chest, and the faint, steady warmth of the crystal resting against my breast—my only companion, my only hope.
I did not look back. To look back was to weaken. To wonder. To doubt whether he would come at all.
The air grew colder as I climbed, sharp and biting, carrying the familiar, acrid scent of decay. The trees thinned, giving way to grey rock and withered scrub. Shadows lengthened, stretching across my path as if reaching out to drag me down. And all the while, that low, insidious voice whispered at the
