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“Move!”
Landera’s command cuts through the chaos. Her hand clamps around your arm, yanking you back from the cliff’s edge. “Forget the damn scroll! We’ll die for it if you don’t start running!”
But you can’t. You won’t. Your feet skid against the loose gravel, slipping on the crumbling edge as you fight against her grip. “I can’t leave it!” you shout, twisting free. The scroll is wedged precariously on a jagged outcropping, taunting you from a few feet below.
Landera curses a string of words too venomous and rapid to fully catch. Behind her, Iker stumbles clumsily in his state of panic. His wide eyes dart between you and the dark ridge above where shadows shift and grow.
“They’re coming!” he exclaims with a trembling voice.
You don’t have time to think. You drop to your stomach, your palms scraping against the rough stone as you reach for the scroll. The biting wind pulls at you, threatening to jostle the scroll loose, or even unmoor you completely.
“Are you insane?!” Landera snarls. “We’re not dying for a piece of parchment!”
You grind your teeth as your fingers barely brush the parchment again. The shouts grow louder, closer—almost on top of you. You think you hear the hurried crunch crunch of boots against the loose rock, and the rhythmic clatter of muskets.
One more inch. One more stretch. The edge of the scroll is maddeningly close, making a mockery of your straining fingertips. Your shoulder burns as you extend more and more, and every instinct in your body begs you to stop, to pull back.
But you know you can’t stop. Not until the scroll is back in your hands.
The parchment flutters slightly, caught in the mountain’s fickle breath. You lunge again, cutting your fingers as they scrape stone, digging deep into cracks and crevices to anchor yourself as you draw closer, and closer. Just a little more, you keep telling yourself. A little… more…
Your hand brushes the edge of the scroll. Relief flares before it slips through your grasp once again. A strangled sound escapes your throat—half curse, half cry—as you twist your body, ignoring the burn in your muscles and the precarious sway of the ground beneath you.
This time, your fingers hook the scroll’s frayed edge. Its coarse fibers feel glorious as they scrape across your palm. You cling to it like a lifeline, relishing in victory. You’ve done it! you exclaim internally. It’s back in your hands!
But the victory is short-lived. The ground shifts beneath you, loose rocks tumbling and clattering down the cliffside. The sound is a thunderous warning that reverberates through your bones. This could all fall apart at any moment. Your balance wavers, and the world tilts violently as you begin to lose your grip on the scroll you’ve fought so hard to retrieve.
“Hold on!” Landera calls out. Her hand grabs your arm, and she uses all the might she possesses to pull you back. Your knees scrape against the uneven ground, pain flaring as you’re dragged away from the edge.
When you finally collapse onto the plateau, your entire body trembles. The world blurs for a moment, but the sensation of the scroll beneath your fingers is the only thing you care about.
“Got it!” you gasp, clutching the scroll to your chest as Landera drags you up in one swift, panicked motion. Her face is pale with fury and fear, but there’s no time for her to unleash the tirade building behind her clenched jaw and flaring nostrils.
“Run,” she spits instead.
The terrain is a labyrinth of rugged paths and jagged cliffs. You’ve barely gotten your footing before the shouts turn into a deafening roar, echoing through the narrow gorge.
“There!” one of the zealots shouts feverishly. A shot rings out again, this one smashing into the rock just ahead of you with a thwack, spraying shards of stone into the air.
Your legs move before your mind catches up, driven by pure instinct. Landera is ahead of you, moving swiftly while keeping her body low. Iker stumbles behind, muttering curses under his breath. His panicked breaths hitch each time the terrain betrays him—a loose stone, a sudden dip in the path.
“Faster!” Landera barks. “Or we’re dead!”
The gorge twists, and suddenly you’re plunging into deeper darkness, the moonlight above swallowed by the sheer walls. The shadows shift, as if they’re eager to devour you. You clutch the scroll tighter, feeling its edges biting into your fingers.
“Left!” Landera calls, skidding into a narrow crevice. The walls are so close you can feel the scrape of rough stone against your shoulders. Iker yelps as he follows, his footsteps uneven and desperate.
For a moment, the world narrows to the sound of your breathing, the hammering of your heart, the faint smack of your boots against the ground. The shouts start to fade slightly behind you, as the zealots are momentarily thrown off by the sudden turn.
“Stop,” Landera whispers harshly, pressing herself into the jagged wall. Her hand shoots out, motioning for you to do the same.
You comply, even though every muscle in your body screams in agony as you flatten yourself against the cold stone. Iker crashes beside you, clutching his side and wheezing like a broken bellows.
Silence.
There’s nothing but an unsettling silence.
And then, a low murmur. The scrape of hurried boots against rock. The clattering of weapons and armor. The zealots are close—you can almost feel their presence. They shout to one another, confused as to where you might be.
You hold your breath with the scroll pressed tightly against your chest. Landera’s hand brushes against your arm—whether for reassurance or a silent warning, you’re not sure.
The shadows shift again. One of the zealots steps into view, his form barely visible in the faint light filtering through the gorge. He’s tall and gaunt, and his movements are jerky and awkward as he searches the area. The muzzle of his musket glints dully, while his fingers flex against the weapon’s stock.
Time crawls. Your lungs burn, screaming for air you can’t risk taking. The zealot’s head tilts, and his body tenses as he listens, strains his ears to hear any indication of where you are. For a moment, you’re certain he’ll turn, that his eyes will meet yours, and the chase will begin again.
The night folds itself tightly around you. The cold pierces through your clothes and seeps into your skin as you crouch in the shadows. Landera’s hand clamps over your arm. Her face is just a faint outline in the darkness, but you can feel her intense glare burning hot despite the frigid air.
“Not another word,” she mouths.
You don’t dare argue, not with the muffled sound of boots crunching just a few paces away. The zealots haven’t given up. Their murmured voices are closer now, like a rising tide ready to pull you under.
Beside you, Iker shifts uncomfortably. Clearly, every instinct he has is telling him to run. But to his credit, he’s fighting the urge to flee in panic, doing his best to remain still.
Another voice rises with a single, clipped command. You can’t make out the words, but it’s unmistakable that they’ve grown frustrated, and can barely restrain their fury. The pursuers stop moving, and you notice their silhouettes through the jagged gap in the ruined wall. One of them gestures sharply, pointing toward the path ahead. A brief, heated exchange follows… and then they move on. To your surprise, their footsteps recede into the night. Their shadows stretch and shrink as they follow the path ahead. One storms off in irritation of the failed pursuit, and the others follow in his wake as their voices fade into the distance.
It’s only when the last echo dies that you dare to move.
“They’re gone,” you exhale in relief.
You let your head fall back against the rocky wall. The scroll crumples into your side, crinkling as it digs against the worn fabric of your cloak.
“Barely,” Iker mutters with lingering panic. “They almost had us.”
Landera’s head whips toward you, “That’s because you,” she points at you accusatorially, “have been dragging us through the nine hells for that piece of parchment. Now we’re running for our lives because of it. If we die out here, it’s on you.”
You fight back the vitriolic response welling up inside you. “If we die out here, it’s because of them,” you point to the open space beyond, in the direction of the strange natives, in the direction of Xiatlazán… you think. “Not the scroll. Not me.”
“That’s rich, coming from the one who couldn’t let it go,” she shoots back, her words like flint striking stone. “You’re obsessed. You don’t even know what it says. That scroll better be worth all of this.”
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“I—” Your response dies in your throat.
The silence that follows is heavier than the night. Landera breaks it first, turning away with a frustrated exhale while shaking her head. “Let’s go,” she mutters, pushing past you. “Before they figure out we doubled back.”
She doesn’t say anything else, just starts moving. She deliberately edges toward the faint path leading further from the grounds.
You linger for a moment as your gaze falls to the scroll clutched tightly in your hands. Landera’s words play over and over again in your mind. She’s not wrong—you don’t know what the scroll says. But you know it’s important. You feel it, in the same way you can feel the pulse in your veins.
“Come on,” Iker says softly, tugging at your sleeve. “We can’t stay here.”
You nod, patting the scroll to reassure yourself that it’s still there. The path ahead is faint, barely visible under the weak light of the stars. Somewhere in the distance, you hear a faint shout. Landera stiffens, and her head tilts slightly as she listens. Another shout follows, and the three of you freeze in unison. It could be a ways away, or just beyond the next ridge. It’s impossible to tell.
Without another word, Landers takes off, not bothering to look back. Iker looks at you with panicked eyes, then stumbles after her. You clutch at your sides, as the fiery pain reminds you the wound is still present. You can only suck in air through your teeth, trying your best to cast the pain aside in order to keep up with your friends. You hopethey’re still your friends, that is. If you survive this.
The path eventually widens into a shallow, rocky hollow. Its edges are softened by tufts of wiry grass, though “softened” is putting it lightly. Landera stops abruptly, carefully searching the area before gesturing for everyone to crouch. “We’ll rest here,” she says curtly, glancing at your wound. “But not for long.”
Iker collapses against a jagged boulder, clutching his side and wincing. “I think my ribs are trying to murder me,” he mutters, earning a bitter look from Landera.
“You’re lucky it’s just your ribs,” she snaps. Her gaze flicks to you, and something in her face goes cold, set like drying clay. “Alright, let’s see it. The thing you risked all our lives for.”
Your hands tremble as you unfasten the scroll from its makeshift bindings. The edges are worn, and the fibers fray in places, but the intricate patterns woven into the parchment are untouched. The material faintly crackles in the stillness as you slowly unfurl it.
The markings are unlike anything you’ve ever seen—elegant swirls and sharp angles that flow together like water and stone. They seem to shift under the faint starlight, as if the patterns take on a life of their own. A breath shudders loose as you trace the symbols with your eyes, each one tugging at the edges of your mind like a half-forgotten memory.
Landera leans in with a furrowed brow. “What is this?” she demands. “A code? A map? What are we even looking at?”
“I don’t know,” you admit, somewhat disappointed that whatever these markings are isn’t more apparent and obvious.
Now her voice rises, incredulous. “You dragged us through hell for this—this… gibberish?”
“It’s not gibberish,” you snap defensively. “It’s—” You falter, searching for the right words. “It’s… important. It has to be.”
“Important?” Landera’s laugh is humorless. “To who? To what? Because right now, all I see is nonsense. You risked all of our lives for nonsense!”
Iker isn’t totally paying attention, as he continuously looks out into the mountainous landscape in search of potential threats. “It could be anything,” he says cautiously, quietly and almost distant. “A ledger. A prayer. How can we even know if it’s important?”
They’re not wrong. The markings are incomprehensible. Their meaning is locked away behind a wall you can’t scale. And yet, deep in your gut, you know they matter. You can feel it, like the pull of the tide or the whisper of a storm before it breaks.
“It’s important,” you repeat, forcing yourself to exert your conviction, no matter how much it might be fraying at this point. “I don’t know how or why, but it is. I just know it.”
Landera’s eyes narrow, her frustration palpable. “And what exactly are we supposed to do with it? Huh? Take it back to Criato and hope he doesn’t gut us for wasting his time?”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than you expect, startling even yourself. “We can’t go back to Criato. Maybe not even Xiatlazán.”
Landera’s laugh this time is bitter in disbelief. “And what’s your brilliant plan, then? Wander around this forsaken place until the answers fall out of the sky? Or maybe we should just march back to those savages in the palace and hand it over. Maybe it’ll help them pass the time while they’re imprisoned, if Xiatli hasn’t struck them down by now.”
Your chest tightens at the word “savages,” the memory of the chain-bound warriors flashing in your mind. You see the defiance in their eyes, the strength in their movements, even in captivity. They fought for something larger than themselves, something you can’t name, but envy all the same. The one you helped—the one whose chains you tried to loose before Xiatli beared down upon you… did he survive? Did they all? Did they make it out alive?
“We have find them,” you say, the realization hitting you like a thunderclap. “We have to find them and take it back to them. They’re likely the only ones who might know what this means.”
“Take it back?” Landera stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You can’t be serious. We don’t even speak their language. Beyond that, we don’t even know where they are, or whether they survived! Let’s just say they are actually still alive, and we somehow find them. How are you going to explain this to them, huh? Just wave it in their faces and hope for the best?”
“It’s our only option,” you insist. “If this scroll is as important as I know it is, then they’re the only ones who can help us figure it out.”
Landera throws up her hands in exasperation, turning away with a frustrated exhale. “You’re insane,” she mutters. “Absolutely insane.”
Iker shifts uncomfortably, watching you and Landera. “It’s risky,” he says hesitantly. “But… they might know something we don’t.”
Landera whirls on him, her expression a mix of disbelief and betrayal. “You’re taking their side? After everything?”
“I’m just saying,” Iker begins, his tone placating, “if we’re already stuck out here, we might as well—”
“No way,” Landera cuts in. “I can’t believe you’re falling for this plan. You’re not helping matters any.”
“And you are?” Iker shoots back, his frustration finally breaking through. “Because all I’ve seen you do is argue.”
“I’m keeping us alive,” Landera snarls. “Which is more than I can say for you, with your whining, or for them—” she jabs a finger toward you, “dragging us into this mess.”
Her accusation stings, even if you know she’s somewhat got a point. You open your mouth to respond, but before you can summon a defense, Iker speaks again.
“You think you’ve got all the answers, don’t you?” He’s speaking louder now—jarringly so. “But no one does. Not even Criato. We’re all just trying to survive. That’s all we’ve been doing since we arrived at this place!”
Landera takes a step closer to him, her eyes narrowing. “Then maybe you should stop talking big and do something about it.”
You charge in between them. “If we’re going to make it out of here, we need to work together.”
For a moment, no one speaks. Landera’s glare is as sharp as the edge of a bayonet, and Iker’s fidgeting only adds to the unbearable tension. The scroll presses against your side, and you suddenly find its coarse fibers biting into your skin like a thorn at your side.
You tell yourself it’s worth it. That everything—the running, the arguing, the fear—is worth it because this scroll holds something vital. Something that could tip the scales, change the course of everything. But the doubt creeps in anyway, coiling itself around your thoughts like smoke. What if it’s nothing? you think. What if all I’ve done is doom us for a piece of parchment that means nothing to anyone?
The image of Xiatli flashes in your mind. His towering presence, His indifferent voice that grates the inside of your skull just thinking about its sound. You shudder involuntarily. His power is unlike anything you’ve ever seen—raw, untethered, and vast beyond comprehension. He could snuff you out without a second thought, as effortlessly as one blows out a candle.
And then there are the strangers. The warriors, who somehow defiantly took on such a powerful being without hesitation. You see them again in your mind—the one with the storms in his eyes, the old man fumbling with the chains, the fierce woman wielding her spear like an extension of herself. They were something else. Something… captivating. Not like you, not like Landera or Iker. They moved as if the very ground, the very land beneath their feet, responded to their will.
You can’t shake the memory of them, their desperation to free their fallen companions, their unyielding resistance even in the face of Xiatli. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if they’re the ones who can make sense of the scroll. No, you are certain they can decipher its meaning. They have to be the ones to do it. The thought lingers like a faint ember of hope in the cold, oppressive dark.
But then Landera’s voice snaps you back to the present.
“Well, none of it matters if we don’t make it out of here alive anyway.”
She’s wrong, you tell yourself. It does matter. It has to. Because if it doesn’t, then all of this—every step, every risk, every breathless moment of running and hiding—has been for nothing. And you refuse to believe that.
A sound claws its way out of the mountainous terrain. At first, it’s barely there—just a vibration that prickles at the edge of your senses. It’s almost dismissible, like the whisper of a breeze through dead leaves. But then it grows. It builds. A relentless, grinding resonance that makes your teeth ache, your bones hum.
“Wait… what is that?” Iker breathes.
Landera’s eyes narrow, searching the darkness beyond while resting her hand on the hilt of her blade. The noise is in your skull now, worming its way through your thoughts. You strain your ears, trying to make sense of the sound. It’s a pounding rhythm that could be boots on stone, the faint clash of metal on metal, and distant voices, too faint to parse. Your heart quickens, with every beat pounding like a sharp drumroll in your ears.
“They’ve found us,” you whisper, chilled to the bone with fear.
Landera doesn’t waste time. “Get ready to move,” she snaps. Her hand gestures urgently toward Iker, who fumbles with his satchel.
The rumble grows louder, and the vibrations become more pronounced. You clutch the scroll tighter, securing it and desperate to protect it from whoever approaches. Every muscle in your body screams to run, but you stay rooted.
“Go,” Landera orders in a harsh whisper. “We need to find cover. Now.”
Iker hesitates for just a heartbeat too long. Landera grabs him by the arm and hauls him forward. “Move, unless you want to find out what’s making that noise up close.”
The three of you slip into the nearest opening, a narrow fissure between two towering rock faces. The passage is tight, with jagged edges scraping against your shoulders as you push through. Above, loose gravel dislodges with every step, skittering down the incline. The rumbling grows louder, almost unbearable, vibrating through the mountain like a distant avalanche waiting to break free.
Your foot slips on an uneven outcrop, sending a small cascade of pebbles tumbling down the slope. You freeze, as your heart hammers against your ribs. The rumble falters, and just for a moment, there’s silence. An unsettling, unnatural silence.
“Keep going,” Landera whispers harshly, her voice barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears. She pushes you forward, willing you to press on.
The narrow passage spits you out onto a windswept ledge. The jagged spine of the mountain stretches out before you. Towering rock formations cast fractured shadows under the faint starlight, with edges as sharp as broken obsidian. Landera halts suddenly, throwing up a hand. You stumble to a stop beside her, and your chest heaves with silent gasps as the thin mountain air does little to steady your breath.
“They’re close,” she mutters nervously, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
You follow her gaze and feel your stomach twist. Bile climbs your throat and nearly escapes your lips. You see them. Dark shapes move in the distance, silhouettes barely discernible against the broken landscape.
One of them stops.
The figure turns, head tilting as though sniffing the air. You realize they’re listening, waiting, sensing something. You hold in your breath, and you press yourself into the shadows, tightly clutching the scroll to your chest.
The figure raises an arm, pointing directly toward your hiding place.
Landera’s grip tightens on your arm. “Run,” she hisses.
Before you can react, a deafening roar erupts from the distant figures. Their voices rise in unison—a cry of pursuit, a signal to hunt. The shadows surge forward, the pounding of their boots is now a stampede, heading straight for you.