The world tilted under her feet.
The girl staggered forward, bare feet scraping against uneven stone, knees buckling, hands gripping the rocky edge of the mountain trail.
She didn't even know when she'd started climbing. Somewhere in the haze of walking — of hunger gnawing at her belly, of cold crawling up her bones — she'd lifted her eyes and seen the faint line of stairs winding up the slope.
And she'd followed it.
Step by step.
Her breath rasped in her throat, shallow and ragged. Her thin robe clung damp to her skin, torn and stained from days of stumbling through brambles. Her cracked hands fumbled at the rough stone as she dragged herself higher.
The wind cut across the face of the mountain, sharp and cold, slicing through her clothes like they weren't even there.
She coughed once, twice. Her knees gave out, and she crumpled to the stone, gasping.
Get up.
Her hands flopped uselessly against the cold stone wall, fingers curling weakly. She leaned heavily on it, forehead pressing into the rock, body sagging. For a long, frozen moment, she just stayed there, eyes shut, breath rasping.
The wind howled. It slammed into her small frame, nearly knocking her back.
She almost let it.
Almost let herself fall, crumple, slide back down into the dark.
But then her toes dug blindly into the stone. Her body moved on its own, driven by some deep primal instinct before her mind could catch up.
She pressed her forehead against the cold rock. Her fingers scraped weakly at the ground. She wanted to rest, just for a moment, just one breath —
But her stomach clenched, as if a nest of starving rats were gnawing through her from the inside, their teeth tearing and scraping at her belly. She let out a low, pained whine in the back of her throat.
No.
She forced herself upright, swaying, head spinning.
There were people up there. There had to be. She'd seen something — shapes, colors — blurred patches of red and gold fluttering high above, rippling in the wind. Flags, maybe. Banners. She couldn't make out the details, not through the haze clouding her vision, but she knew there were walls up there, roofs, fires, kitchens — somewhere, someone. Somewhere, something alive.
She dragged herself up another step. Then another.
She didn't want to beg. She didn't want to crawl.
But she would.
She'd do anything.
Scrub floors until her knees bled. Haul buckets of water, carry firewood, polish boots, clean latrines, sharpen weapons. Anything.
Anything, just for one meal. One roof. One night not dying under the stars.
She couldn't think anymore.
Not about the brothel, not about the insults, not about her hate for the mistress, for Mei or the thugs.
Not even about the gates ahead, or the smell of food she might find there.
She was still climbing.
Her body ached, sharp and hollow. Her legs trembled, her breath came in ragged gasps, sweat and grime streaked her skin.
But she dragged herself higher.
The mountain path narrowed, curving around a sharp edge, the wind rushing harder here. She clutched the stone wall, pulling herself forward, teeth gritted, heart hammering like a frantic drum.
A dark shape loomed ahead — a stairway, wide and carved into the stone, winding up toward the silhouette of a great gate at the mountain's crest.
She stumbled toward it, almost falling, knees scraping hard on the steps. She caught herself, panting.
Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt thick and useless. Her head throbbed, a dull, pulsing ache.
Just a little farther.
She could almost imagine it: the heavy wooden doors opening, warm light spilling out, the smell of food — meat, rice, broth — drifting down to meet her.
She'd fall to her knees, beg, promise anything.
"I'll work. Please. I'll haul water. I'll clean your floors. I'll carry your firewood, scrape your pots, polish your swords. I'll shine your boots until you see your face in them. Anything. Just give me food. Just let me sleep inside, just one night."
Her chest hitched, a dry, rasping sound shaking out of her throat.
It barely made a noise — just a hollow pant, caught somewhere between a breath and a choke.
Her knees buckled again, and she hit the stone hard. She stayed there a moment, forehead pressed to the step, fists clenched at her sides.
I can't stop here.
Her arms trembled as she forced herself upright. She dug her toes into the cold stone, legs quivering, body swaying.
Step. Step. Step.
Above, the banners caught the wind, red and gold shimmering faintly in the fading light.
Her head drooped, chin brushing her chest, breath wheezing in and out.
She'd made it farther than anyone had ever thought she could.
She couldn't go back. There was nothing to go back to.
If anyone saw her now — this bloodied, starving half-blood girl — would they let her in? Or would they laugh, sneer, shove her back down the steps, slam the gates in her face?
A flicker of panic twisted sharp in her chest.
She gritted her teeth, breath hitching.
No. Please. Just let them see her. Just let them take her in — even for one night
Surely there was still some pity left in this world. Surely someone up there would see her and not turn her away.
She was already here. She'd dragged herself this far. She just needed them to open the door. Just open it, just once. Let her crawl inside. Let her live.
Her hands fisted in the thin fabric of her robe, pulling it tighter around her, teeth chattering faintly as the mountain wind howled past.
Above, the steps stretched on, narrow and sharp, cutting up toward the gates where light flickered faintly — lanterns, torches, maybe fires.
She would climb. She would knock.
And when the doors opened, she'd throw herself down and offer anything they wanted.
Scrubbing floors, sharpening blades, tending horses, cleaning out the kitchens.
Whatever they asked.
Right now, she didn't need honor. She didn't need pride.
She'd lost her pride a long time ago back at the brothel. She was used to begging by now, used to keeping her head down, used to doing whatever it took just to survive.
She needed food. She needed warmth. She wanted to live.