Lana cuts through the last of the bamboo and ferns just as I catch up to the group. Light fills our otherwise dim path. We step out of the forest, staying close and remaining hidden. My instinct is to curse. The sky is filled with flying creatures: large eagle-like creatures, griffins, wyverns, and dragons. Some of the fliers are patrolling; those even look to have soldiers riding on them. Other fliers look like they are just going about their business.

Not only is the sky busy, the mountains are packed with life. Four mountains, to be precise, in a mountain range sprawling as far as the eye can see. The two front mountains are tightly packed with buildings, roads, walkways, and people. Where there is room, purple flower trees blossom, alleviating what otherwise would be an industrialized mountain.

The mountain next to the purple one is just as packed; however, the size of the buildings takes the place of quantity. There is no less activity on the mountain, perhaps even more. What sets the second mountain apart from the first is the jade-colored roofs of all the buildings.

A lake pulses with a deep blue sheen in the valley between the first two mountains. As the mountains are packed with buildings, fishing boats crowd the lake, and markets and houses line the shore.

Towering over the first two mountains is a bright mountain city covered in elegant white gold. Very few buildings can be seen on the sleek mountain, and fewer fliers land or leave what I assume is the palace or castle of Mithland. Now that I've seen the jeweled city, it's hard to look away. In fact, the gold-covered mountain next to the capital mountain looks dull and out of place. And the gold mountain is leagues ahead of the first two in extravagance.

We all continue to stare in awe. There is a draw to the mountains inviting us all to come and see. We are not foolish enough to budge from our spot of hiding. The invitation is not for us. A message made clear by the iron gates walling off the four mountains. Where the mountains are a place of beauty, the massive iron gate is all function, and its purpose is clear. Keep out.

"Well, I'll be damned," Bones says, dismissing his grass-cutting tool. Lana and him have been working together the last thirty miles to cut through the sea of grass. With both of them working together, I struggled to keep up with regrowing plants. "What an absolute fu—"

"Bones!" Interjects Lana, cutting off the last word. Bones follows through and still gets through, though.

"—Fest. I can't believe you led us right where we don't want to be, Jim."

"I was planning to turn a mile ago. You two were cutting too fast for me to catch up."

"And you did not think saying something would have helped." Lana is all smiles, her complicit betrayal is in plain sight. I'm not surprised. If Bones had a tongue, it'd be silver.

"Welcome to the heart of Mithland," says Gene. "I've always wanted to visit the Mithral Palace. I have read that the most secret techniques are held there, passed on from the first empress of Mithland."

"Their cities are so amazing. The Highlanders pale in comparison," Lana says with marvel. Fascination and longing replace her devious smile. "What kind of techniques?"

"The first empress and all the empresses since her have all been paladins." I can almost feel the impact of Gene's words hitting Lana, and if it weren't for Remny holding her hand, she might start walking toward the towering gates.

"I think I can sneak in there. The secrets alone have got to be worth it." Lana's tone is half joke, half serious.

"Maybe if it is food you're talking about," says Remny. I know it pales compared to what we could get, but I share some rations with my companions. We all eat in wonder.

"My bugbear impression is pretty good," says Lana, her eyes lost in her scheme. "Thanks to Gene, my perception masking is better than ever."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"You'll die before you make it to the gates," Bones says challengingly. The skeleton is still on a high from his last successful betting endeavor with the light cleric — who could cut the most grass.

"They aren't exactly built with the small enemies in mind." Lana has yet to actually win a bet. The challenge adds another layer of temptation. "I think I can squeeze past the bars. You know what they say. Massive bars make massive gaps."

Lana's manner of speaking catches me off guard. She's spoken in ways similar to me and Bones a few times now. It's not that she is copying my language. Her awkward phrases are spoken naturally. I'd consider the phrases common, but none of the Anvileers seem to use them. I watch Lana a little closer.

"Fine, I will stick with our party," Lana says with disappointment when she sees my accidental glare. Her longing eyes still linger on the palace atop the white mountain. I try to adjust, but it's too late. I was going to share the secrets with the rest of you." More than the rest of us, Gene looks the most disappointed… after Lana. Brunch Club is doing a number on her.

"The bugbears are ruled by an empress?" I ask, trying to sidestep us from the temptation of secrets. "I got the sense that they are a patriarchal society."

"Except for the empress, the rest of the ruling class of the bugbears are men. They have a clear purpose: to protect and preserve the All-Mother — their Mauna."

"Bugbears are a bunch of aggressive momma boys? That doesn't add up," says Bones.

"The bugbears back home are a perversion of the ideal. Still, you will find women treated more delicately here than elsewhere, and some of the men are rather toxic in their service to the Mauna."

"Mauna… like home to the mountaineers, highlanders, and islanders?" Lana asks. The mention of Mauna and islanders also catches my attention.

"Close," says Gene. "Regarding our home realm, Mauna means mountain. Here, it is referred to as the All-Mother. The similarities between the two are enough that some scholars speculate that the orcs are a distant branch of the bugbears. Some believe that the original orcs shorn their fur, similar to how the islanders permanently removed their tusks.

"Aon…" mutters Lana. The word falls from her lips as if it holds tremendous weight. Two of us, not in the know, look at the light cleric questioningly. When she provides no further explanation for her sacred word, we look to Gene, the giver of all the information. She doesn't disappoint.

"Aon is the belief that we are all connected to one God, AO. Many religions and cults have been created under this belief, though the name changes depending on the territory. The silvers and most Mauna refer to their god as Agon. The common belief is that the stronger they become, the closer they get to Aon, and so the closer they get to Agon.

"From one is many. From many, we become one." This time, Lana doesn't leave us in the dark. "Back home, Aon is widely practiced. It is accepted in our nation as truth."

"So that's why death is so accepted?" Lana and Gene both nod. My insides turn in repulsion. Death — is a religion... My goal is to bring down a religion? Well, when stated like that, my goal seems much more feasible and unrealistic. "If this Agon or AO is real, why's he so important? Why does anyone want to return to him? What's he done to deserve any worship?"

"Some use Aon to justify their hunger for power. Others find peace in the belief that we are united in the end. And some use it as a desperate attempt to preserve themselves — if they serve AO enough, they will earn a seat at his side to rule in the heavens."

"Serve… by killing?"

"There is only one way to power…" Lana pauses. "I am not saying I agree with it or that it is right. Many terrible things and marvelous things have been done in the name of AO. Just as humanity has done great, we have also done evil." While the words are troubling, I'm not blind enough to see my stained hands. Killing has brought me incredible power. As much as I try to avoid it, I don't. I can't. I have my justifications and reasons for why I find it necessary. It's different from worshippers of AO, but the results are the same.

"So, what category do you fall under? Peace, preservation, or power?" Until now, the question of Lana's devotion hasn't been brought up. I guess everyone's already familiar with the cleric and the religion or has no issue with how things are. My loss of memory makes me a bit of an outsider of society and, by extension, Bones. However, Bones is more receptive to this way of life. There is no resentment in his tone. His question is more out of curiosity than concern.

"Lana's not a Cleric of AO," says Remny matter-of-factly. Besides conversing with her granny, the youth has been silent on our journey through the bamboo. Remny looks at Lana and raises her brows. Lana winks, and Remny winks back twice. The cleric nods her head, which leads to a grinning Remny. "Lana is not even a real cleric."