From afar, the mountain looked like it had been carved from shadow.
Closer, Elowen saw the truth—its blackness wasn't stone.
It was bone.
The whole mountain was a graveyard of something ancient, fused and twisted together by time and magic. Jagged ribs of forgotten beasts jutted from its sides like knives, and a long scar cut across its peak, glowing faintly with red light.
The villagers once called it "The God's Spine."
But that was before they forgot the stories.
Now it was simply the mountain no one dared name.
Elowen and Ashen stood at its base.
Behind them, the Stillwoods faded into a strange calm. Birds sang again. The mist had thinned. The earth no longer trembled.
Something had shifted.
But the mountain did not welcome them.
The wind here was sharper. Colder.
It whispered lies.
Ashen adjusted the wrappings around his hand. The wound from Elira's fight still throbbed. "Are we ready for this?"
"No," Elowen said. "But we go anyway."
She stepped forward.
The first trail was narrow, winding like a serpent's spine along a ridge. Every step sent bones crunching beneath their feet—small ones, human-shaped.
At times, faces seemed to shift in the rock. Eyes that blinked once, then vanished. A trick of the light… or memory?
Ashen slowed beside her. "Do you feel it?"
She nodded. "Something watches. But it doesn't breathe."
They passed crumbling statues, half-eaten by the mountain—priests with hollow eyes, hands raised toward the peak in eternal silence.
At the third bend, the path ended.
A chasm yawned before them, wide and black.
No bridge. No ledge.
Only a gap—and a voice.
"Blood must answer blood."
Elowen turned.
A pool of dark water shimmered in a stone basin nearby.
"I know what to do," she said softly.
Ashen moved forward. "Wait. What if—"
But she had already stepped toward the basin.
With her knife, she sliced her palm.
One drop of blood fell.
The water turned silver.
The air hissed.
And then—stone roots curled out of the chasm like fingers, shaping a narrow bridge made of bone and bark.
Elowen wrapped her palm, unfazed.
Ashen stared. "You really are one of them."
She looked at him.
"No. I'm something new."
The bridge held, just barely. As they crossed, the mountain groaned beneath them.
Ashen glanced at the sky. Clouds gathered above the peak—black and bruised.
Lightning flickered silently.
And for a heartbeat, a shape moved through them.
A winged thing, tall as the sky. Its body made of smoke and memory. Its eyes glowing with gold hunger.
Ashen stopped. "Did you see that?"
Elowen didn't answer.
But her hand tightened on her spear.
At last, they reached a gate carved into the mountain's face. It was made of obsidian and covered in carvings—battles, sacrifices, a serpent god rising from fire.
One image caught Elowen's eye.
A woman bound to a tree, silver tears streaming down her cheeks.
Beneath it, a single word etched in ancient tongue:
"Seris."
Her breath caught. "She was here. Before the end."
Ashen looked closer. "There's another name… carved beneath hers. Fresh."
"Elowen."
The door creaked open.
Inside, the air was warm. Too warm.
They stepped into a narrow hallway. Torches burned with blue fire. Shadows clung to the walls like ink.
Something waited beyond.
And then, a voice spoke.
Not aloud.
Not with sound.
But inside Elowen's blood.
"You carry her pain. Her defiance. Her flame."
"But what will you do when I offer you peace?"
The god had awakened.
And it had finally noticed her.