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Chapter Ten
The Ridge of Stars
Rygnar
By the time the work shift ended, the air in the tunnels carried the first whisper of spring—snowmelt trickling through cracks in the stone, mingling with the deeper scent of resin and earth. The mountain was waking, slow and cautious, as if it too feared being seen.
I had seen that look before—in people, in myself.
Lina met me by the tunnel mouth that opened toward the high ridge. She wore one of Mara’s spare jackets, patched and too large at the shoulders. The sleeves hung past her hands, tied back with twine.
“You promised to show me the gardens.”
“They’re above,” I told her. “If you can climb.”
“I can climb.” She grinned, testing her weight on her ankle. “Besides, you’d just carry me if I couldn’t.”
“That was once,” I said, though the warmth in her smile made it difficult to keep my tone dry.
We climbed through a passage that narrowed to a cleft between slabs of granite. The ascent wasn’t steep, but the air thinned quickly, cool and sharp against the back of my throat. Lina followed close behind, her footsteps steady.
At one point, she slipped.
My hand went back automatically.
Her fingers caught mine—small, sure—and held on until we reached the top.
The ridge opened like a secret.
The sky stretched wide above us, dusk spilling into indigo. The first stars appeared—faint at first, then steady against the fading light. Below, the basin glowed with hidden veins of luminescence—our homes, our power lines, our lives tucked safely into the mountain’s bones.
Lina stopped at the edge, her breath catching.
“It’s… more beautiful than I thought it would be.”
I said nothing. Beauty was easier to see from the outside. For those of us who had built it, the view was a reminder of everything we had buried to remain unseen.
She turned toward me, eyes wide in the growing dark. “You built all this because you wanted peace.”
“Because we wanted to stop running,” I said. “Peace was something we hoped might follow.”
“Do you think you’ve found it?”
I looked out across the ridge where the wind moved through the pines, whispering over stone and soil.
“For moments,” I said. “Like this one.”
Her expression softened. “That’s enough, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes.”
We stood together at the edge, the wind tugging at our clothes. I could feel Lina’s warmth even through the layers between us.
It was… unexpected how quickly I had learned the measure of her presence. How her breathing altered the air around me. How her voice settled into this place as if it had always belonged.
She tilted her head back, studying the sky. “You can see the belt from here.” She pointed to a line of stars stretching east to west. “When I was a kid, my father said it was the road home for lost travelers.”
