Ryu's eyes fluttered open, greeted by the bright, cloudless sky. He tried to shift, but his body was bound tightly to a rough plank of wood. A steady jolting motion told him he was being dragged, the creak of wooden wheels and the rhythmic thudding of hooves filling the air. Twisting his head slightly, he caught a glimpse of the rider—a young man with aserious expression, eyes sharp and watchful. “You're finally awake,” the rider said without turning. His voice was smooth and steady, carrying a quiet confidence. Ryu cleared his dry throat. “Who…who are you? Where are you taking me?” The young man glanced over his shoulder, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Name’s Kill. We’re going to the top of Mount Roger.” Mount Roger. Ryu’s thoughts drifted back to Rika. He remembered her mentioning the mountain as a sacred place—a place of learning and wisdom, where those who climbed it could find answers to their deepest questions. The thought of her sent a fresh pang through his heart, her lifeless face flashing through his mind. Sensing Ryu’s shift in mood, Kill spoke up. “I found some bandits along my journey,” he began, his tone almost casual. “Heard them planning a raid on a village. Tracked them for three days, but I was following the wrong group—the backup. By the time I realised it, the main group had already done their work.” Ryu swallowed, his mouth dry, the scene of the ruined village still searing in his mind. Kill continued, his voice lowering slightly. “When I arrived, I found her—the priestess. She was barely alive, but she told me about you. About the boy she had taken in.” Ryu’s chest tightened. “She told you…about me?” “Enough,” Kill replied quietly. “She didn’t make it, but she asked me to take care of you. I did what I could… buried her, the children, the villagers.” A heavy silence fell between them. Ryu looked up at the man, trying to find words, but his throat felt thick. “Thank you,” he finally managed. Kill just shrugged, as if brushing it off. “Mount Roger was my destination anyway. And she asked me to bring you with me. So here we are.” Ryu turned his gaze back up to the sky, feeling an odd mix of grief and gratitude. The first few days of the journey were quiet. Kill mostly kept to himself, giving Ryu time to heal from his injuries and process his grief. The mountain path was rugged and steep, with dense forests on either side. Every evening, they made camp under the stars, sharing a quiet meal before settling into silence. On the fourth night, Kill tossed Ryu a makeshift weapon—a sharpened stick hardened in fire. “Figured you might want to do more than just sit around.” Ryu took the weapon with a nod. “Thanks.” They spent the next few days sparring in the evenings after making camp. Kill had a fluid, almost effortless way of moving, his strikes quick and precise. Ryu, fuelled by pent-up anger and sorrow, threw himself into the practice. Slowly, his movements grew more controlled, more focused. One night, as they rested, Ryu looked at Kill. “Why do you fight like that?” “Like what?” Kill replied, raising an eyebrow. “Like you’re dancing. I’ve never seen anyone fight that way.” Kill’s mouth twitched in a slight grin. “Maybe because it is a dance,” he said, his eyes taking on a glint. “Every move has a rhythm, a purpose. Fighting is as much about balance as it is about strength.” Ryu thought about that, his gaze thoughtful. “Balance…” he murmured. As the days went on, their conversations grew more frequent. Kill spoke more about his life—how he’d come from a family of assassins who taught him how to fight from a young age. He described it without pride or bitterness, just as a fact of his past. “And you’re okay with that?” Ryu asked one night as they sat by the fire. Kill shrugged, poking at the flames with a stick. “No one chooses their family. But you can choose who you want to be.” He glanced at Ryu. “Guess we both learnt that the hard way.” Ryu fell silent, Kill’s words resonating with him. By the ninth day, Ryu found himself trusting Kill. He didn’t know why, but he felt…lighter. Kill’s presence grounded him, and he no longer felt like he was facing his pain alone. One evening, Kill broke the silence. “Rika must have meant a lot to you.” Ryu nodded, the familiar ache returning. “She saved me. She... she taught me that there was more to life than just surviving. She gave me a reason to live.” Kill’s gaze softened. “She saw the good in you,” he said. “And maybe she thought bringing you here would help you find your own path.” They continued up the mountain, the air growing colder, the trees thinning out to reveal the barren, rocky slopes near the summit. The climb grew steeper, the path more treacherous, but Kill’s steady presence kept Ryu moving forward. On the twelfth day, a storm hit as they neared the summit. They took shelter under a rocky overhang, huddled together against the howling wind. Ryu was shivering, his body weak from the climb, but Kill stayed close, keeping him warm through the night. When morning came, the sky was clear, the peak.

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of Mount Roger glistening in the distance. They made their final ascent together, arriving at the summit on the thirteenth day. As they stood at the top, Ryu gazed out over the vast, mist-covered valleys below. He felt a strange peace settling over him, the pain inside him slowly easing. Kill turned to him, a rare smile crossing his face. “Welcome to the top of the world.” Ryu looked back at him, a faint smile tugging at his own lips. For the first time in a long while, he felt…hopeful.