Chapter 2: The Man Like a Mountain
The walk to the Headmaster's hall was a silent one, each step echoing on the polished wooden floors of the long, quiet corridors. Kai led the way, his usual buoyant energy subdued into a respectful quietness. Damish followed, his mind a churning vortex of the painful dream, the lingering worry for his parents, and a growing, nervous curiosity about the man who ruled this isolated place.
They passed open courtyards where other students, dressed in the same simple uniform as Kai, moved through slow, deliberate exercises. Their movements were fluid and precise, a harmony of balance and control that spoke of years of disciplined practice. There was no shouting, no roughhousing—only the soft sound of feet shifting on gravel and the occasional exhale of focused breath. The entire academy hummed with a quiet, purposeful energy that was utterly foreign to the bustling university life Damish knew.
Finally, they stopped before a set of tall, carved double doors made of a dark, rich wood. Kai bowed slightly towards the doors, then turned to Damish.
"This is it. Just... be respectful, okay?" Kai whispered, his eyes serious. "I'll wait for you out here."
Before Damish could ask what he meant by that, Kai pushed one of the heavy doors open just enough for Damish to slip through, then pulled it shut behind him, leaving Damish alone.
The hall was vast, but surprisingly simple. High, beamed ceilings arched overhead. The air was cool and carried the faint, clean scent of sandalwood and old paper. At the far end of the hall, on a slightly raised dais, two figures stood.
The first was the man Damish immediately recognized. It was the same stern-faced, lean-built man who had been leaning over him in the vehicle, the one whose skilled, clinical hands had probed his broken ribs and applied the miraculous salve. In Damish's memory, he was a figure of immense authority and grim competence. But here, now, he looked… different. He stood two precise steps behind and to the left of the other man, his hands clasped behind his back, his powerful shoulders slightly rounded in a posture of deep deference. The sternness was still there, etched into the lines of his face, but it was now the sternness of a devoted guard dog, waiting for its master's command. The man who had seemed so formidable to Damish now appeared almost like a chastened child in the presence of the other.
All of this, Damish registered in a split second because his entire attention was irresistibly drawn to the man seated calmly on a simple cushion at the center of the dais.
This, without a doubt, was the Headmaster.
And he was nothing like Damish had imagined. Based on the old martial arts novels he'd skimmed, he'd expected a wizened ancient with a long white beard, bushy eyebrows, and an impenetrable aura of mystical aloofness.
The man before him was middle-aged, perhaps in his early forties. His hair was a thick, unruly shock of jet black, untouched by any hint of grey. He wore a simple, dark blue robe of coarse linen, practical and unadorned. He wasn't overly muscular, but his frame suggested a lean, whipcord strength, the kind honed by decades of discipline, not weights.
But it was his presence that truly commanded the hall.
It wasn't an aggressive aura that pushed against Damish or demanded submission. It was the exact opposite. Standing in his presence was like standing in the eye of a hurricane. The room was preternaturally still, and the Headmaster was the epicenter of that stillness. A calm, cool breeze seemed to emanate from him, not a physical wind, but a sensation of profound peace and absolute control that washed over Damish, soothing his jangled nerves without any conscious effort. The frantic, racing thoughts about his parents, the accident, his future—they didn't vanish, but they quieted, as if the volume had been turned down on the chaos in his mind.
And then there were his eyes.
As Damish approached, the Headmaster looked up from a scroll he was perusing. His eyes were a clear, light brown, like amber. They held no ripples of emotion—no curiosity, no judgment, no impatience. They were deep and still, like a mountain lake on a windless day, reflecting everything yet revealing nothing of their own depths. They seemed to see not just Damish's face, but straight through him, taking in the fear, the confusion, the grief, and the stubborn core of resilience within him, all in a single, placid glance.
Damish realized he had stopped walking, rooted to the spot about ten paces from the dais. He didn't know what to do. Bow? Salute? Say hello? The social scripts of his world were useless here.
The Headmaster spoke first. His voice was as calm as his presence, a low, measured baritone that carried effortlessly across the spacious hall without ever needing to rise in volume.
"Damish. It is good to see you on your feet. I am Master Ren, the keeper of this academy. I trust your recovery has been progressing adequately?"
The question was simple, polite, yet it felt immense. It wasn't small talk. It was a genuine inquiry that seemed to encompass his physical, and perhaps even his mental, state.
"Y-yes, sir," Damish managed, his own voice sounding small and reedy in comparison. "Thank you. For… for taking me in." The words felt inadequate, but they were all he had.
Master Ren gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. "It was the necessary thing to do. You would not have survived the night otherwise." His gaze shifted minutely to the man standing behind him. "Instructor Bo here possesses considerable skill in trauma medicine, a necessary art for those who practice the physical disciplines we teach."
So that was his name. Instructor Bo. The man didn't react to the mention of his name, his eyes fixed on a point on the far wall, his posture unchanging.
Master Ren's clear eyes returned to Damish. "I imagine you have many questions. The most pressing ones likely concern your location and your path home."
A wave of relief so strong it was almost dizzying washed over Damish. "Yes, sir. Please. My parents… they must think I'm dead. I need to contact them, to let them know I'm okay. And I need to get back to my university. My exams…" The words tumbled out, his desperation breaking through the awe he felt.
Master Ren listened patiently, his expression unchanging. When Damish finished, he spoke again, his tone never fluctuating from its serene evenness.
"I understand your concern. Your well-being is our priority. Let me first illuminate your situation." He unrolled a section of the scroll on his lap, revealing a hand-drawn map of breathtaking detail, depicting towering mountain ranges and deep valleys. "You are here," he said, pointing to a small mark nestled high in the peaks. "This is the Cloud Peak Academy. We are located in a remote and hidden valley within the Kunlun Mountain range."
Damish's geography was decent. The Kunlun Mountains. That was in Western China. A thousand miles from his home? More? His heart sank.
"The nearest town of any significant size is a seven-day journey on foot from our gates, and that is a journey made by our most seasoned runners," Master Ren continued, his finger tracing a thin, treacherous-looking path on the map. "The world out there," he said, his gesture encompassing everything beyond the valley, "believes this area to be largely uninhabited and inaccessible, especially at this time of year."
He looked up, and his calm eyes held Damish's. "This isolation is intentional and essential to our way of life. The arts we practice and preserve here are ancient, originating from forgotten schools of thought in both India and China. They are not for show or for sport. They are disciplines of the mind, body, and spirit. Their purity is maintained through seclusion. For this reason, Damish, I must forbid you from sharing the specific location of this academy or the details of what you see here with anyone in the outside world. This is not a request born of secrecy for its own sake, but of preservation. Do you understand?"
The words were spoken softly, but they carried the weight and finality of a law of nature. Damish found himself nodding mutely. How could he argue? These people had saved his life. Their world, their rules.
"But… my parents," Damish pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. "I just need to let them know I'm alive. A phone? A letter? Anything?"
Master Ren's expression softened by a fraction, the only hint of emotion he had shown thus far. "There are no communication lines to the outside world here. We are utterly self-sufficient. The journey to the nearest point where you could send a message is the same journey that would take you home." He let that sink in for a moment. "As for your return…"
He paused, and for the first time, Damish sensed a slight shift in the man's immense calm, a calculated deliberation.
"The path back is not impossible, but it is formidable. The high mountain passes that provide the only viable route are, as of two weeks ago, sealed. The early winter snows this year were heavy and sudden. The paths are buried under meters of snow and ice, and avalanches are a constant danger. It is utterly impassable."
Each word was a hammer blow to Damish's hopes. He felt the walls of the beautiful hall closing in on him. Trapped. He was trapped here.
"How… how long?" Damish asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"The snows will not begin to melt for at least five months," Master Ren said. "And it will be another month after that before the paths are safe for travel. You are looking at a minimum of half a year before any journey to the lowlands can be attempted."
Half a year. Six months. His parents would mourn him for six months. His university place would be given up. His life would be gone.
"But…" Master Ren continued, and his tone shifted subtly. It was still calm, but now it held a note of pure, factual observation. "It is a curious thing. Our valley, due to its unique geography and specific elevation, is sheltered from the worst of the weather. While the mountains around us are choked with winter, we experience only these crisp, cold days and light frosts. A pocket of habitability in an ocean of ice. You could say it is a coincidence of nature that you were brought here, of all places."
The word coincidence hung in the air. And with it, the question that had been gnawing at Damish since he first woke up returned with a vengeance. Why him? Why here?
He glanced at the silent, obedient Instructor Bo, then back at the impossibly calm Headmaster. A man like that, a place like this… they didn't seem like the types to randomly rescue strangers out of sheer goodwill. There was a purposefulness to everything here, a deliberate energy. Nothing felt accidental.
"Master Ren," Damish began, finding a sliver of courage. "With respect, sir… was it? A coincidence?"
He met the Headmaster's gaze, trying to read those still waters. "Instructor Bo and the others… they found me, they treated me, they brought me all the way here. That's a huge risk, a huge effort for a stranger. You said it yourselves, the world doesn't come here. So why… why did you bring me? It couldn't have just been out of goodwill, could it?"
For a long moment, Master Ren was silent. The only sound was the faint whisper of the wind outside the high windows. Instructor Bo remained a statue, though Damish thought he saw the man's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.
Then, Master Ren did something unexpected.
He smiled.
It wasn't a broad or warm smile, but a small, subtle upturn of the corners of his mouth that made the calm depths of his eyes seem even more inscrutable. It was the smile of a man who knew a great many things and found the questions of the world gently amusing.
"That is a logical question, Damish," he said, his voice like the cool breeze. "The human mind seeks patterns and reasons. It struggles with random chance. But sometimes, the simplest answer is the true one. A group of our students were returning from a long-distance endurance run along a little-used service road. Their vehicle was behind schedule. You were struck. They acted. They applied the skills they have learned here to stabilize a dying man. Bringing you here was the only option, as the nearest hospital was hours away and you would not have survived the trip."
He spread his hands, a small, graceful gesture. "It was a confluence of timing, location, and training. A purely chance occurrence. You need not dwell on it, searching for meanings that are not there. It will only bring you confusion."
The explanation was perfectly reasonable, delivered with utter conviction. Yet, Damish felt a strange dissonance. It sounded right, but it felt wrong. It felt like a beautifully wrapped box that was empty inside. The sheer, immense presence of the man before him made the idea of mere coincidence seem laughably small. But what else could it be? He had no proof, no evidence to the contrary. Only a gut feeling.
Master Ren watched him, his smile fading back into serene neutrality. He saw the doubt, the conflict, on Damish's face and chose to address the more practical matter.
"The reality of your situation remains," he said, pulling Damish's focus back. "You are here. The way back is closed for six months. The distance to your home, were the path clear, is approximately one thousand kilometers through some of the most rugged terrain on earth. In its current state, it is a journey that would mean certain death."
He let the finality of that statement settle in the cold, still air of the hall.
"You are a guest of Cloud Peak Academy for the foreseeable future. You will be provided with room, board, and clothing. You may observe our training, though participation will be limited due to your injury. Use this time to heal, and to find stillness within yourself. When the snows melt, and only when the path is safe, we will provide you with supplies and a guide to the nearest road. Until then, consider this valley your home."
It was a dismissal, gentle but absolute. The audience was over.
Damish stood there, his mind reeling from the onslaught of information—the immense distance, the impassable snow, the six-month sentence, and the Headmaster's smooth, unshakeable, and utterly unsatisfying explanation of his rescue.
He had no choice. No agency. He was utterly at the mercy of this calm, cool-breezed man and his mysterious academy on the roof of the world.
All he could do was bow slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment if not complete acceptance. "Thank you for explaining, Master Ren," he said, his voice hollow.
Master Ren gave another slight nod and returned his gaze to the scroll on his lap, as if Damish had already vanished. Instructor Bo's eyes flickered towards Damish for a split second, a look that was unreadable before he too returned his gaze forward, resuming his role as a silent sentinel.
The conversation was over. Damish turned and walked back towards the large doors, his footsteps echoing in the vast, quiet hall. He felt the Headmaster's calm, perceptive gaze on his back until the moment he stepped out into the corridor, where a worried-looking Kai was waiting, and the heavy door swung shut, sealing the mountain-like man and his secrets away once more.