A cold mist blanketed the peak of the hill, slowing Yig’s pace. The grass crunched softly underfoot as he stepped carefully around the scattered rocks. The mountain was shrouded in morning fog, slightly obscuring his view of the path ahead. But Yig knew these routes as well as the roads of the town. Ask him, and he’d tell you he could navigate the mountain blindfolded. He’d been up this hill with Mona and his friends countless times. And considering he’d never left the borders of Chestnut, he had probably climbed it every other day since he learned to walk.

  Many parts of the mountain were formed from large boulders stacked together like nature’s playground. In one such spot, Yig spotted a flock of sheep. A single lamb stood apart from the rest, trembling as it stared down from the edge of a ten-foot drop. The others bleated at it from a nearby ledge—likely urging it to jump—but the lamb nervously paced back and forth, unable to make the leap.

  Yig took a quick detour, sliding a few feet down the mountain and weaving his way across the jagged terrain. Before the lamb could react, he scooped it into his arms and leapt across the drop. The sheep squealed in surprise, wriggling free as soon as they landed, then bounced off to rejoin its flock, who continued on their way.

  Near the summit, the path cleared but was swept by a sharp wind that nearly drowned out all sound. Yig had come prepared with a thick cloak for just this reason—to keep warm in weather like this. It was a deep crimson, torn and repaired in places. At this altitude, it billowed dramatically in the wind.

  As Yig climbed higher, he paused to glance out across the landscape. A few mountains over, he spotted the distinct opening of a massive cave—at least fifty feet high—ringed by snow and tall trees. The rock there was unlike the earthy tones of Chestnut; it was a cold, flat grey. Though the cave lay within the town’s borders, it was forbidden to approach. A small hut stood at its base, and every child in town had shared theories about it. But today, Yig could’ve sworn he saw a short man slip back inside.

  Near the peak, on a ledge, the mountain cradled a graceful tree, under which Mona sat on a stone, sipping from her cup. A pot of tea steamed beside her. They had planted that tree together, back when it was just a sapling. It was their tree, their spot. Seeing it always reminded him of how much they had grown—in height, and in strength.

  Still fighting the wind, Yig removed his cloak as he approached, folded it beside Mona, and sat on it. He poured himself a cup of tea from the pot. Neither of them spoke. They simply watched the fog begin to lift, revealing the town below.

  The Town Hall remained the most prominent building, with smaller businesses nestled nearby. Further downhill, neat rows of wheat fields stretched out, along with vegetable and livestock farms—places Yig had loved to run past—flanked by the houses and barns of the farmers.

  “Do you see why not everyone wants to leave this place?” Mona asked.

  “Yeah. I’m starting to understand just how attached people are.”

  “But not you?” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but the words could’ve easily been used that way by someone else.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Of course I’m attached. But I don’t really think of our trip as leaving. People and places are only far away if that’s how you choose to see them.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure when we leave, we’ll be far away from everyone.” Slightly combative again.

  “Maybe in distance.”

  Mona looked back at the view of Chestnut. “Why am I not surprised you’d say something so spiritual?” she said with a smirk. “Would you still say that if we manage what you want? If we cross into another world?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Yig went still for a moment—eerily so. “You do want to leave, right, Mona?”

  “What? Yes! I never said I didn’t. I’m just pointing out that it might cause... some emotional struggle when we do. For most of us.”

  Yig tensed slightly, pulling in his shoulders as he picked at the ground. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  “What are you on about? Are you trying to stop me from coming?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you asking? Damn it, Yig, I’ve never questioned you about this! I’ve never had to, because we’re in this together. We’re going to get this done together. But you’re so full of yourself, you think I’m doing this as a favour. Darleth is out there, and I want to see him. I want to know why he wanted to take me—his baby daughter—with him when he left. I want to see what he’s seen, and what he wanted to show me!”

  She stood and extended a hand.

  “We’ll open the gates to Paradise together. That’s our Quest. Right?”

  Any concern about her loyalty vanished as he met her smile. He took her hand and pulled himself up to stand beside her.

  “Right.”

  From the sky—now clear of mist—came the cry of a great bird. They looked up and saw the massive red creature, the size of a small house and the color of a fresh apple. Even from that height, they could see it had dropped something, and they both knew what it must be.

  “Mona, give me a boost!” Yig yelled.

  “From up here?”

  “Yeah! It’ll be fine!”

  Yig, as usual, didn’t quite soothe Mona’s nerves. Still, she crouched, laced her fingers, and cupped her hands. As Yig stepped onto her thumbs, she pushed up with all her strength, launching him into the air, his cloak whipping behind him in the wind.

  He soared far from the mountain, his body twisting into a tactical free fall. He quickly closed in on his target—an egg the size of his fully grown body, its shell glinting in the morning light. He grinned, spreading his arms and legs to wrap around it.

  With a thud, his face smacked into the egg. The shell was stone-hard, and he bounced off slightly, dazed—but managed to secure it, wrapping his limbs around it in a full-bodied grasp.

  Then came the fall. Still clinging to what might as well have been a light boulder, he plummeted. He couldn’t see much below, but if his memory served him, the landing zone was a thicket of trees and bushes.

  Perfect.

  He shifted his weight mid-air, positioning himself atop the egg to absorb the impact. Together, they crashed through the canopy, branches snapping and slowing their descent until they hit soft, wet mud—and slid the rest of the way down the slope.

  At the base of the mountain, a small group awaited him—some hunters and villagers who shared a love for egg-catching. Yig sat sprawled in the mud, covered in brambles, a bleeding gash on his forehead... and the unbroken, massive egg beside him.

  Jordan was the first to reach him—a big man, older and buffer than Yig, with a thick mane of red hair and a well-groomed beard to match. He looked down, tutting in mild disapproval.

  “Well caught.”

  Yig looked up with a childish grin, teeth faintly bloodied.

  Some of the farmers who had come running hoisted the egg into their arms and carried it off to be cooked later. Yig didn’t mind. The egg was theirs now—after all, it wasn’t the prize the catchers sought, but the thrill of the catch itself.

  He stood, started brushing himself off, and only then noticed his head was bleeding.

  It made him laugh.