"Thirty years is too long. I only race against the day." Orson smiled as he spoke.
The party regrouped and pressed on.
The First Heaven was vast; it took them nearly two hours just to scale through it. At the top they found a narrow plank path carved by earlier climbers, wide enough for a single body to inch across.
That path led as high as the Thirtieth Heaven. Beyond that, the mountain offered no easy handholds. From there on it was sheer cliffs, and survival rested entirely on strength and skill.
The rock here was harder than steel ore, though not quite fit for forging gear. Higher heavens meant tougher stone. By the time one reached the Fiftieth, the cliff face was said to rival divine artifacts in durability.
Orson studied the gouges and scars left in the cliff. Generations of Fireborn had tried to carve a road for later climbers—iron chains, anchors, supports. Most gave up halfway. Only this plank path still held.
