The mountain loomed above us, jagged and unforgiving, its peak lost in a shroud of mist that hung low, veiling the summit like the crown of some ancient, forgotten king. Kendril led the way, his steps sure and steady, as though he'd walked this treacherous path a thousand times before. I followed closely behind, my eyes darting between the narrow trail and the sheer cliffs that rose on either side, jagged like the teeth of a hungry beast. The wind whistled through the gorge, a constant, eerie reminder of how far we were from any trace of warmth or life.
The air was cold and thin, sharp against my lungs with each breath I took. It had started with the fresh scent of damp earth and pine when we entered the mountain pass, but as we climbed higher, that smell faded, replaced by something more sterile and biting. The cold here wasn’t just in the air—it clung to the rocks, seeped into the ground, and twisted around us like an unseen specter. Each gust of wind felt like the touch of icy fingers on my skin, and no matter how tightly I wrapped my cloak around me, I couldn’t escape the feeling.
The rocks underfoot were slick with patches of frost, and thin drifts of snow clung to the craggy tips of the mountainside. The wind whipped at our bodies, pulling at our cloaks, as if trying to drive us back, reminding me of battles long past. My young body endured, but I could feel the cold sinking in. It wasn't the worst I had felt, not by far. In my old life, during the siege of Ivongore, the winters had been long and brutal. Stationed on the front lines, we were wet and cold for months, our hands too numb to grip our swords properly, our breath freezing in the air before us. I’d seen men, hardened by years of war, fall to the elements without so much as a battle cry. Found dead at their posts, their skin pale and frostbitten, ice hanging from their armor like grotesque ornaments adorning statues of the dead.
And yet, even then, even in that unrelenting cold, it hadn’t been like this—not the same gnawing sensation that reached into the marrow of your bones, that clung to you long after you’d escaped the storm. When you live past 70 winters, that's when you know what cold is—when it’s no longer just a discomfort but a constant presence. It sets into your bones like a parasite, creeping through every part of you, and when it grabs hold, it never lets go. Even on a hot summer’s day, it lingers, waiting for a light breeze to fan the flames of that icy fire within. The cold from this mountain, biting as it was, paled in comparison. I did not look forward to repeating the days ahead, where this cold would be a constant companion.
The path grew steeper, and my muscles began to ache, but it was the memory of that deeper, older cold that weighed on my mind, threatening to consume me. The wind howled through the narrow gorge, and the mountain seemed to echo with it, amplifying the loneliness, the isolation. Kendril pressed on without a word, but even his movements seemed more deliberate, his steps heavier. He had to feel it too—the weight of this place, the way it clawed at you, not just physically but mentally, as if the mountain itself was testing our resolve.
“We’re almost there,” Kendril shouted over his shoulder, his voice barely audible above the howling wind. His cloak, frozen stiff behind him, fluttered like a flag of battle long forgotten—no longer the soft, warm fabric it once was, but a rigid sheet of metal, cold and unyielding. Every step we took upward seemed to push us deeper into the very heart of the storm, the mountain’s icy breath growing harsher, slicing through whatever protection our cloaks offered. The wind howled, a banshee’s wail that reverberated through the narrow pass, drowning out all other sounds.
I squinted against the wind, my vision blurred by the snow that lashed at my face like tiny shards of glass. My eyelids felt like lead, the skin around them cracking under the relentless assault of the cold. Every blink was a struggle, a painful reminder that even the smallest parts of me weren’t immune to this unforgiving environment. I tried to focus, to make out what lay ahead, but all I could see was an endless expanse of rock and swirling mist.
"I don’t see anything," I muttered, more to myself than to him. My voice was swallowed by the wind almost as soon as the words left my mouth.
Kendril didn’t respond. His silence hung in the air between us, thick with an unspoken confidence that made me both uneasy and curious. He just kept moving forward, each step purposeful, as if he knew the path as well as his own heartbeat. And then, just as I began to question whether we were walking into nothing but the frozen grip of death, we came upon a sheer rock face, rising out of the mist like the wall of a fortress built by giants.
Kendril paused before it, his hand reaching out to touch the cold stone. I watched as his fingers brushed the surface, the movement so delicate it seemed out of place in the harshness of our surroundings. He whispered something—words too faint for me to hear, perhaps too ancient for me to understand. And then, nothing. He stood there, hand pressed against the stone, unmoving. For a brief moment, I felt a pang of uncertainty, wondering if the same fate that had befallen so many of my men in Ivongore—the slow, creeping death of cold and despair—was now happening to him. Was he frozen there, forever bound to this mountain, a living statue waiting for a door that would never open?
But then, something shifted.
The rock shimmered, a subtle ripple like the surface of water disturbed by a breath of wind. The icy mist that clung to the stone cracked, splitting apart with a sound like thunder rolling across the mountaintops. The very air around us seemed to tremble as the mountain groaned, as if the earth itself had awakened from a long slumber. The stone, once solid and impenetrable, began to split and twist, revealing a narrow entrance—a jagged wound in the mountain’s face, leading into the darkness beyond.
The temperature around us seemed to drop even further, a chill that wasn’t just physical but something deeper, something primal that gripped my chest and made it hard to breathe. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to follow Kendril as he stepped into the opening.
The relief from stepping into the entrance of the mountain was indescribable. If my eyes hadn’t been frozen open, I might have wept tears of joy. The bitter sting of the wind vanished in an instant, like the cruel claws of a beast finally releasing me after a relentless, suffocating grip. For what felt like the first time in an age, I could breathe again, deeply and freely. As the air filled my lungs, I realized how much the cold outside had stolen from me—not just my warmth but the very breath from my chest. It felt like I had been holding it in for days.
We had only walked a few hundred yards into the heart of the cliff, the sound of our boots crunching on the stone floor the only noise in the cavernous space, when the real pain struck. At first, it was just a tingling sensation in my ears and fingers—pins and needles that slowly pricked at my skin. But it wasn’t long before the tingling turned into something much worse. Pain surged through my body, starting in my extremities and radiating inward like wildfire. My skin burned as blood rushed back into areas that had been numbed by the cold. It was as if every inch of me, every cell, was screaming in protest against the sudden flood of warmth. My limbs trembled uncontrollably, shaking with the violent return of feeling.
I looked toward Kendril, expecting to see him suffering the same torment, but he marched on without a flicker of discomfort. His steps were steady, his posture as controlled and deliberate as it had been outside. Not a shiver, not a shake—just that same calm determination etched on his face, as if the cold had never touched him.
The deeper we ventured into the mountain, the more oppressive the darkness became. The thin rays of cold light from the entrance quickly died out, leaving us in a tunnel of shadow. I could barely make out Kendril’s figure up ahead, a faint silhouette against the void. My hand brushed against the rough stone wall beside me, and I kept it there, using it as a guide to steady myself. The rock was cool to the touch, smooth in some places, jagged in others. It felt alive, humming faintly with some ancient energy that thrummed just beneath its surface.
We walked in the darkness for, maybe fifty paces or more, each step heavier than the last. The silence pressed down around us, thick and suffocating. My heart raced in my chest, the only sound I could hear. Just when I thought we might be swallowed whole by the pitch-black, a faint glow appeared ahead. At first, it was barely noticeable—just a flicker of yellow light, like the tiniest spark of a candle flame in the distance. But as we pressed on, the light grew brighter and warmer, casting long shadows against the stone walls.
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I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the sudden shift in brightness, and there it was: the entrance to a room, glowing with a soft, inviting warmth. It was like stepping from one world into another—from the cold, lifeless grip of the mountain into a place that promised shelter, safety, and perhaps something more. Something ancient.
We stepped into a stone room, lanterns hanging from the walls on either side, casting a warm, flickering light over the space. To my left and right, benches lined the walls, piled neatly with clothes and shoes, some worn, others looking untouched. Ahead of us, a wooden door hung directly from the rock, as though it had been carved from the mountain itself without a frame to hold it. It seemed out of place, an odd contrast to the rugged stone surroundings.
"Welcome," Kendril said with a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "To my home... though I haven’t been back here in years. You’ll find something among those clothes that should fit." He pointed to the piles on the benches. "Best to change here. You won’t need all those layers inside—it’s much warmer."
I watched as Kendril shed his frozen cloak, shaking it off before rummaging through the clothes. I did the same, peeling off my stiff, ice-covered cloak, feeling a shiver run down my spine as the cold finally began to thaw. If I stayed in these wet clothes any longer, the warmth I’d gained would be gone in an instant, replaced by the chill of dampness sinking into my bones.
"This place is well hidden," I remarked, trying to make conversation as we changed. The silence between us had been thick during the climb, and I needed to break it, to reconnect with something normal. "I doubt you get many visitors... if any."
Kendril gave a small, almost wistful chuckle. "Aye, lad, you’re right. This place is meant to be hidden. Visitors? No, not in a long time. Years, in fact. I’ve always preferred it that way."
I frowned as I pulled on a dry shirt and refastened my belt, the cold still lingering in my skin. "We’re the only ones here?" I asked, slipping on my old boots since none of the others seemed to fit quite right. "But... who lit the lanterns?"
Kendril didn’t pause, but I caught the slightest smirk on his face as he pushed open the wooden door ahead of us. He didn’t look back, only calling over his shoulder, "Come, you’ll see."
Curiosity gripped me as I hurried to follow, stepping through the doorway into the unknown. The warmth inside beckoned, but the mystery of the place gnawed at my mind.
Kendril was right—it was much warmer inside. The air had the pleasant feel of a spring day, the perfect balance between warmth and coolness. As we walked, I could feel the bite of the outside world fading with every step. He led me through a narrow stone passage that opened into a small chamber, which, in turn, led out to a stone courtyard. The courtyard overlooked the valley below, and though the wind howled and the storm raged in the distance, it never reached us. It was as if an invisible barrier held the elements at bay, creating a tranquil pocket amidst the mountain's fury.
The view was breathtaking, the mountain tops vanishing into the misty sky, their jagged peaks fading into the horizon. Despite the tumultuous storm swirling in the distance, the courtyard itself was peaceful, untouched by the cold winds and rain. I ran my hand along the stone railing, marveling at the contrast—one step beyond this invisible shield, and I knew the storm would swallow me whole. But here, it felt like the world had paused, allowing us a moment to catch our breath.
“Don’t worry, lad," Kendril said, turning to me with a knowing smile. "It’s not as complicated as it looks. You’ll get used to this place quickly enough. It’s an old magic, this barrier, keeps the worst of the elements out, lets us live in peace up here.”
I nodded, still a little overwhelmed by the contrast between the raging storm outside and the calm within. Kendril gestured towards a passage that branched off from the courtyard. “Down to the left,” he continued, “you’ll find a kitchen, and beyond that, a small garden. Feel free to help yourself to whatever you need. I’ll have some food cooking later if you want to join me.”
He pointed in the opposite direction. “To the right is the library and my study. Best to stay clear of that area for now. I’ll show you around after we’ve eaten.”
I glanced at the passageways, still taking in the sheer size and structure of this place. It was like a hidden world, one that had been carved into the very bones of the mountain.
Kendril’s voice softened as he motioned toward another hall, one that seemed darker and quieter than the others. “Your quarters are down here. First room on the left. I’ll be at the end of the hall if you need me. Should be warm water and towels if you want to clean up—you look like you could use it.”
With that, Kendril gave a nod and turned, his cloak brushing the floor as he headed toward his room. I stood for a moment longer, feeling the stillness settle over me. The warmth of this sanctuary was a welcome relief.
My room was spacious but lacked a window, the only light coming from several lanterns scattered around. They cast a warm, steady glow that flickered gently across the stone walls, making the space feel surprisingly cozy despite its stark appearance. A large bed dominated the room, soft and welcoming, piled high with more blankets and pillows than I had seen since my days in Allensmore. It was a stark contrast to the straw bed I had grown accustomed to at the farm, a luxury I hadn’t experienced in years. The sight of it alone nearly made me collapse with exhaustion.
Near the bed stood a small desk and chair, neatly positioned beside a fireplace that appeared untouched, its hearth cold and clean. The room was well-furnished, but it lacked the signs of life—no clutter, no personal belongings. It felt like a place where time had been frozen, waiting for someone to make it their own.
To the side, a door led into a smaller room. When I stepped inside, my eyes widened at the sight of a large bathing tub and a simple sink, accompanied by little knick-knacks—brushes, soaps, and what looked like scented powders in small jars. My heart leapt at the sight of the tub. I’d been bathing in streams and rivers for the last several years, and while that had its moments of refreshment, the thought of sinking into hot water—real hot water—was a luxury I hadn’t dared to dream of.
Next to the tub was a stand with a pitcher of hot water resting on it. I frowned, puzzled. Who had placed the water here? There had been no sign of anyone else in the place except Kendril. Shrugging off the thought for the moment, I lifted the pitcher, expecting there wouldn't be enough water for a full bath, and poured it into the bowl to wash my hands and face.
To my amazement, as soon as I emptied the jug, I noticed the water inside it rise again, the pitcher filling itself back up with steaming hot water as if it had never been poured at all.
I blinked, staring at it in confusion. My mind whirred, trying to figure out the trick behind it. That’s when I spotted a stand with a V-shaped holder next to the tub. A thought clicked into place, and I carefully positioned the jug into the holder. Instantly, water began to pour from the spout into the tub below. The magic didn’t stop—before the jug emptied, it filled itself again, creating a constant, flowing stream of perfectly warm water.
A wide grin spread across my face as the tub began to fill. I quickly undressed, tossing my worn clothes to the floor, and slid into the tub just as the water rose to meet me. The sensation was like nothing I had felt in years—warmth enveloped my skin, soothing every ache, every knot of tension that had been building.
I reached over and grabbed one of the small containers, tossing a pinch of the scented powder into the water. The soft smell of lemdavor, a sweet and calming herb, filled the air as the powder dissolved, the fragrance drifting up in delicate wisps. I closed my eyes and leaned back, letting the water cradle me, carrying away the weight of the past few days—and perhaps even a little of the burden from years gone by.
I bathed, letting the warm water ease away the tightness in my muscles, the heat soaking deep into my core. The longer I lay there, the heavier my eyelids became, the weariness of the past few days finally catching up to me. I fought to stay awake, but it was a losing battle. The warmth of the water, combined with the gentle scent of lemdavor, lulled me into a sense of calm.
Before I knew it, sleep claimed me. It wasn’t the troubled, restless kind I had grown used to, filled with nightmares and the ghosts of my past. No, this sleep was different—deep and dreamless, as if the weight of the world had finally been lifted from my shoulders. It was the sleep of a newborn, cradled in the arms of its mother, content and safe, with no thought of the troubles to come.
I couldn’t say how long I slept, but when I woke, the water had gone cool, the firelight in the lanterns still flickering gently around the room. For a moment, I simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind blissfully clear.
Eventually, I roused myself, the aches and pains of the journey gone, replaced by a strange sense of renewal. I dried off and dressed in fresh clothes, feeling like a new man.
Once ready, I left the room in search of Kendril. The place was vast and unfamiliar, but I followed the faint sound of footsteps echoing through the stone halls, hoping they would lead me to him. There was much left unsaid between us, and I knew that whatever answers he held, I needed them now more than ever.