Upon waking up, morale finally hit an all-time low.
Though the group had already completed more than half of the journey, it still felt endless. Like the mountain itself was stretching, warping, dragging them further from hope.
The cold — once a brutal slap to the face — had become something worse. A dull, constant ache. The kind that seeps into your bones and never quite leaves.
Their supplies were dwindling. What little food remained would have to be rationed with military precision if they wanted to reach the end.
Spending weeks climbing, starving, freezing — surviving.
It messes with a lesser person's head.
And for most of the unawakened, that breaking point had already been reached.
The snow-covered landscape never changed. The wind never ceased. The silence never broke, save for the occasional scream of the wind or crack of a frozen branch.
A natural torture chamber. Beautiful in its cruelty.
Eventually, unrest erupted.
Leadership was no longer just questioned — it was challenged.
"Lucia, Drako, let's talk," said Jacob, voice strained. He wasn't alone. The rest of the unawakened stood behind him, hollow-eyed and stiff with cold.
The two leaders exchanged a glance, then walked over.
Jacob took a breath. "First… we've decided to abandon the trip. We know we're close, but we're not stupid. The Final Valley's next. And we're not gonna survive that."
His voice trembled slightly, but he stood firm.
Everyone knew about the Final Valley.
It wasn't just cold — it was death incarnate.
Beasts that had survived centuries. Creatures strong enough to devour mana cores like sugar cubes. And cold so intense it turned blood into ice before the heart could pump it.
On paper, Drako had mapped a safe route.
But everyone knew that paper plans rarely held up against nature.
Jacob continued. "Second… we can't trust you two anymore. We've already lost one of our own. We don't even know how. You promised we'd be prepared for this crossing — but this?" He shook his head. "It's too much."
Drako and Lucia didn't flinch. They didn't argue.
They simply listened.
"Lastly…" Jacob glanced back at the group, then turned forward again. "We've decided to follow Kael instead. He's more balanced. Practical. He's been helping us. Leading us. Earning our trust. We think he gives us the best shot."
He raised his chin. "So. We want ninety percent of the remaining supplies. That'll let us survive long enough to cross back down or find shelter."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Drako stepped forward.
"Let me make one thing clear," he said, voice calm but razor-sharp. "You have no authority here, bud."
Jacob blinked.
"You're weak. Pathetic. We've been shielding you for over a week. You've contributed nothing except more mouths to feed."
One of the rebels opened their mouth, but a quick glare from Lucia shut them down instantly.
"If you want to leave, then leave," Drako continued. "But don't expect more than what you're owed."
Lucia stepped up. "You'll get sixty percent of the rations. No more. Take it or die out there. Your choice."
Her voice was ice.
The confrontation ended with no further argument. But the tension remained.
Anger simmered beneath the surface. Frustration, betrayal, exhaustion.
Drako and Lucia knew they weren't perfect. They hadn't expected praise. But they had tried.
They had led.
They had protected.
And still, it wasn't enough.
But one question lingered in their minds, heavy and cold.
Where was Kael?
The so-called savior of the unawakened.
Where was he while this little mutiny unfolded?