Yig walked determinedly up the mountain, a cheap sword strapped to his side. The road was rocky and dusty, with streams of sand trickling down the brown mountain wall. The path was narrow—many wouldn’t dare attempt it, especially with the near fifty-foot drop along its edge. Jordan and Shack trailed behind, trying hastily to keep up with their fellow hunter—to his dismay. On their backs, they carried equally cheap weapons.

  “Come back here, Yig!” Jordan shouted. “You can’t just walk into that cave alone. The mayor said so!”

  Yig didn’t flinch. He kept walking, showing no fear of the treacherous path.

  “No matter how stubborn you are,” Shack said with a huff, “you can’t get the sword on your own. Darleth said that himself. Let’s go back to town, gather some hunters, and then we’ll all go in together.”

  Yig stopped. “No.”

  Jordan and Shack halted too, waiting for him to say more.

  “I know what Darleth said, but I need to be even stronger than what he expected from Mona. Getting in and out of that cave will prove I am!”

  “Says who?” Jordan shot back. “You already held yourself to impossible standards, and now you’ve raised the bar even higher. It’s not healthy, and it’s not helping. You’re setting yourself up to fail.”

  “Unhealthy? Maybe… but also necessary.”

  “Oh, shut up. Tell me one good reason you need to do it alone.”

  “Mona and I needed to be strong enough to protect our party. Now that she’s gone, I have to make up for her absence.”

  “You think walking into a cave and dying is going to make up for Mona’s strength? Do you even hear yourself? Who are you planning to protect if you’ve got no one by your side? Let us come with you. Let us help.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Shack nodded hesitantly—clearly still unsure, but unwilling to oppose his brother.

  “Yig…” Jordan said, softer now. “Being a good leader means trusting your party. Trust us to stay by your side.”

  The two men stared each other down, neither breaking eye contact. To do so would’ve felt like losing the argument—an increasingly tempting option as the disagreement dragged on.

  “Okay,” Yig finally said, his voice laced with distress. “Just… don’t die.”

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  The front of the mountain loomed ahead, finally coming into view. Hidden from Chestnut by a neighbouring mound, its presence was overwhelming. The road leading to it was flanked by tall trees whose branches only grew at the very top, sprouting dark green leaves. Gravel and mud blended with the mountain’s grey theme, with sparse, dark grass poking through—starkly different from the lush terrain of Yig’s favourite mountain.

  A tall cavity marked the entrance, expelling an unnaturally cold breeze. Yig pulled his cloak tighter and glanced back at Jordan and Shack. Jordan had wisely worn more than a couple of layers, but Shack hadn’t been so thoughtful. Yig offered him his cloak, but Shack immediately declined, almost sneering at the gesture.

  As they approached the entrance, a small hut came into view. It was built from a wood that matched the surrounding trees and puffed smoke from its chimney. Cosy, despite its location, the hut stood out—a curious spectacle in such a place.

  Standing before the cave, the entrance seemed enormous. Jagged rock walls stretched upward, long icicles dangling from above. The cold wind roared like a beast now that they were close.

  Yig looked unsettled—but not by the environment. “Stay here.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jordan yelled sarcastically. “You can’t get rid of us that easily.”

  “Well…” Shack muttered, “it’s convincing me.”

  The door of the hut creaked open, revealing a small elderly man, still hopping around as he tugged on a pair of little leather boots. “Hold on there,” he said in a grizzled but friendly voice, “I have to agree with the nervous lad—none of you are going in alone.”

  The group exchanged confused glances but stood respectfully as the man finished suiting up.

  “Oh… hello?” Yig said, unsure.

  “Hello, mate, just—just give me a second.” The man bent slowly to tie his boots, adjusted his wool hat, and lifted a long staff before finally marching up to them.

  Shack turned to the others for direction, but without much thought, Yig stepped forward and extended his hand, which the old man accepted.

  “I’m Yig.”

  “Thuzen. Thuzen Bibliota.”