We watched them go, hooves muffled in moss and pine needles.
Then we turned to the cliffs.
If the trail held.
Ifwedid.
There had been talk of circling the ridge entirely, following the river low and looping around the far side of the vale. But time wasn’t a luxury we had. The southern pass had succumbed to the rain's fury, leaving the northern route as their only hope of crossing the treacherous Wildervale Mountains before the inevitable deluge transformed everything into an impassable swamp. It was Alaric who’d first spotted the old stair-cut ascent leading upward, a route chiseled into the side of the cliffs, half-lost to time and lichen.
With every upward step, the world opened to a terrifying duality: one side plunged into an abyss of mist and nothingness, while the other clawed skyward in a defiant wall of jagged rock and rain-slick shale. We moved into a single file. Steadying my boots with each movement. Up ahead, Alaric’s armor clanked faintly in the distance.
Gideon walked ahead, humming something tuneless to break the silence. Jasira followed close behind him, one hand gripping the back of his belt for balance, her other hand braced lightly against the cliff whenever possible. It wasn’t fear, just practicality. The ledge didn’t allow for pride.
She was quiet and focused. Every step counted.
Wyn followed behind me, her breath shallow and her eyes distant. She had spoken little since we had left the forest floor. She was paler than usual, though she tried to hide it. I turned back to watch the way her fingers trembled as she adjusted her cloak.
“You’re cold,” I breathed.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure it’s only the cold.”
We stopped to catch our breath beneath a rocky outcropping. The rain had started again, fine and silver-like threads unraveling from the sky. Wyn pressed her back against the unyielding stone, forcing herself to slow the frantic pace of her breathing. A whisper of fear could be seen in her eyes as they drifted to the twisted pine silhouettes half-eaten by fog.
“Something’s wrong with this place,” she whispered. “Even the animals won’t look at us.”
“It’s Wildervale,” I said. “Wrong is its natural state.”
She hesitated, then looked up at me. “Do you know what it used to be?”
I blinked. “Only stories.”
She leaned her head back against the stone and let the rain speckle her cheeks. “I found a book once. Hidden in the castle library. Dusty and half-eaten by moths. It said that this valley was once sacred. Before the wars, before the gods turned on each other.”
My brow creased in thought. “Sacred how?”
“All the gods lived here. Or so the myths said. Each one had a temple: fire, wind, earth, water, light, and dark. Their magic flowed together, balanced, and whole. Wildervale was once different from its twisted state. People revered it. The heart of their realm.”
She peered back into the swirling mist, her eyes clouded with unspoken worries. “Vireya, the goddess of flame, believed she was above the others. Brighter. Purer. She began the war. Andwhen it ended…the rest of them left. Or died. And Wildervale rotted in their absence.”
I knelt beside her, listening more carefully now.
She looked down at her hands. “The trees warped. The winds grew strange. People stopped returning from pilgrimages. And now all that’s left are ruins and curses.”
I glanced at the curling mist, its slow crawl over the trees. “And we’re the lucky fools walking through it.”
She gave me a weak smile. “You’re not afraid?”
I hesitated, then said, “Fear’s not the enemy. It’s what you do with it.”
A faint color flushed her cheeks. Before she could reply, Alaric signaled our departure.
We continued the climb in silence. The trail narrowed further as we ascended, only a ribbon of stone cutting across the ridge. Mist clung to our boots, and the wind rose. It was soft at first, then sharp enough to bite through our cloaks. The drop beside us grew more treacherous with every step, a chasm of fog and crag where even echoes dared not linger.
Jasira pulled her hood tighter and muttered something about cursed air. Gideon tried to break the tension with a joke about cliffside taverns. Alaric glanced behind us more often than ahead, hand near his sword hilt. The guards exchanged wary looks, their fingers brushing the charms they wore beneath their collars.
Wyn said nothing more, but I could feel the unease rolling off her like static. Whatever weight she carried from the forest, it hadn’t eased here.
And neither had mine.
