The mountain pass was narrow, flanked by sheer cliffs that rose into the clouds. The wind howled through the gorge, carrying the scent of snow and stone. Alex, Artemia, and Saeko moved in single file, their steps careful on the loose scree.
The ground trembled.
It started as a vibration, barely perceptible. Then it grew, becoming a rumble that shook the cliffs. Stones rained down from above. The wind died, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence.
From the shadows of the pass, it emerged.
The minotaur was seven meters of pure muscle and rage. Its hide was dark as iron, crisscrossed with ancient scars. Its horns were massive, curving like crescent moons, their tips stained with old blood. In its hand, it held a sword—a blade of black steel, longer than a man, its edge gleaming with a cold light.
But it was the elements that marked it as something beyond ordinary.
