The Weisshorn did not rule the skyline; it assessed it. A flawless pyramid of light stone and ice it rose distinct from the surrounding summits, an isolated quiet monarch. The atmosphere near it was strangely calm as though the mountain absorbed every sound. As Alexander climbed its glaciers the mental chorus of the Echoes softened, not vanished, but... Muted. It resembled listening to melodies through a barrier. The Penitent's Blade strapped to his back seemed weightier, than usual.
On the day of the climb the quiet was interrupted.
No noise caused it to break. Instead the darkness, inside a fissure he was passing began to deepen. The afternoon sunlight was keen creating blue fissures on the ice yet one shadow appeared to intensify, to solidify. He had the Penitent's Blade partly unsheathed when the shadow separated.
It had the form of a man yet lacked any solidity an outline carved from the very essence of darkness. It wielded a sword forged from despair. From shadows, a second and a third emerged, gliding with a smooth eerie elegance their steps silent, on the snow.
Abyssal specters. Not genuine warriors, unlike Duncan. Scouts. Animated silhouettes dispatched to assess to gauge, to drain power.
There came no alert, no shout. The initial strike came upon him in a sweep.
Alexander completed his draw the sword colliding with the shadow-blade. The collision was off. It produced no clang, a muted thud like a fist hitting a thick curtain. The blow shook his arm radiating through the touch. He forced it back. Twisted around just as the second phantom attacked from his blind spot. He ducked, sensing the rush of cold air as the shadow-blade whisked past above him.
He rose, swinging the Penitent's Blade in a frantic sweep. It cut through the chest of the phantom. This time there was no whisper of freed resolve. The phantom trembled, its shape unraveling at the margins, like smoke caught in a breeze. It did not vanish. It reassembled itself gradually its strike weakening. The Blade had inflicted pain. Had not annihilated it. These entities lacked objectives to break; they embodied pure living will—to end his life.
The third specter entered the conflict. Alexander was pushed back against the crevasses edge. The tight area was a terror. There was no space for ethereal swordplay. This was frantic hand-to-hand fighting. A shadow-blade cut across his dulled cuirass not with a screech of steel but with a noise, like ripping velvet. A streak of chill seared across his chest underneath.
He groaned, the acute and distinct. Genuine. He had nearly lost touch with what bodily pain was like, amid the mental anguish of the Echoes. It sharpened his attention.
He ceased attempting to battle them as if he were a knight. Instead he battled them like a trapped beast. Using his elbow he struck the face-like void of the initial phantom sensing a crackle of fading power. He delivered a kick to the knee of another causing its leg to collapse into mist before it reassembled. He was gasping for breath sweat congealing on his forehead beneath his helmet. His muscles ached with a weariness that was mercifully wholly physical.
The Penitent's Blade proved cumbersome, in the confined space. He released it the ebony steel disappearing into the snow. He unsheathed his sword.
Within the hushed absorbing atmosphere of the Weisshorn's inclines the sword's heavenly light failed to shine brightly. Instead it emitted a dim amber glow.. It remained tangible. Genuine.
Upon the arrival of the shadow-blade he confronted it wielding the golden steel.
CLANG!
The noise was a fierce curse within the muted realm. It reverberated against the surfaces, clear and absolute. The shadow-blade broke apart into pieces of fading darkness. The phantom withdrew, a cry, in the wavering of its shape.
Alexander seized the hand. He advanced, lacking elegance but with effective force. He was no Messenger enacting retribution. He was a man struggling for survival in the snow. He slashed, chopped and struck. The golden sword resembled a butcher's blade slicing through the shapes. Wherever it struck the phantoms didn't merely unravel; they dissolved with silent bursts of expelled darkness.
Within moments it concluded. The final phantom vanished into a smear of vapor upon the white snow, which then disappeared, leaving solely the aroma of ozone and chill.
Alexander remained standing his chest rising and falling, steam billowing from him into the atmosphere. The gleaming sword quivered in his hand. The sharp ache stretching across his chest pulsated. His gaze fell on the snow now disturbed and scarred, by signs of the conflict. The battle had been brief, brutal and completely revealing.
The refined verities of the Penitent's Blade, the harmony of the Chalice… they represented philosophy. This was anatomy. This was endurance. The Abyss wasn't a concept, for discussion; it was a power that unleashed unseen assassins to strike you down on a slope.
He picked up the Penitent's Blade, sliding the sword back into its sheath. The shadowy artifact now felt colder symbolizing a truth that appeared remote and vague against the pain in his muscles and the sting, in his lungs.
He glanced upward at the incline leading to the peak cloaked in an impeccable silence of its own. The specters were merely a test. A sample.
A voice, clear and recognized spoke from, behind a towering block of ice. "I told you they get annoyed by the sound."
Giovani Azaria appeared, wrapped in furs seeming calm. He glanced at the fading marks in the snow with expert curiosity. "Shadow-stitches. Annoying nuisances. Inexpensive to produce so they come in droves. You dealt with them with… a vigor. I anticipated skill, from a bearer of the Echoes."
Alexander simply gazed at him too exhausted, for talk. "What do you need, trader?"
", like usual. To handle it." Giovani's keen eyes sparkled. "You're at the peak. The Ring awaits.. The snare does as well."
"A trap?"
This isn't a triggered snare. It's... A trap. The Ring's energy emanates. The nearer you approach the muted everything grows. Your thoughts. Your magic. Your resolve." He indicated Alexander's mind. "That delightful noise you harbor? It will diminish to a murmur. Then to a recollection. Within that the sole presence is the Rings proposition: a cessation of all conflict. The final bargain. Serenity, at a cost."
"I've noticed the cost " Alexander remarked, recalling the bone-sigil, inside the cave.
"Ah yet you haven't experienced it " Giovani replied. "Understanding hunger and sensing your own belly consume itself are entirely distinct." He rubbed his hands in unison. "Now my proposal. I could provide you a shield. A small vial of selected clamor. A trapped wail, a shard of a monarch's chuckle. Something to cling to amid the quiet to remind you why you resist.. What you resist."
Alexander examined the trader's expression. "What's the price?"
"For you? A promise. One future favor, to be named later. No celestial restrictions, no abyssal taboos. A simple favor between… acquaintances."
The breeze howled across the ice. The stillness surrounding them seemed famished, eager to consume the reverberations, within his soul.
"No " Alexander replied, his tone. "No agreements. No protections. I'll confront the silence, with what I possess. With who I am."
Giovani grinned broadly revealing his teeth. "The tough route. I respect the perseverance." He offered a salute. "Best of luck Alexander Magnus. When the final reverberation of your name disappears from your thoughts keep in mind: this was your decision."
The merchant disappeared beyond the ice barrier as abruptly as he had shown up.
Alexander faced the ascent more his muscles throbbing, his thoughts already succumbing to the dulling grip of the summit overhead. He declined the bargain not from power. Driven by a dreadful essential curiosity. He needed to discover what he would transform into within that flawless quiet. Would he be the warrior reflected in the gleaming armor? The skeletons, within the ring?. Something wholly different?
He began to climb again, each step taking him further from the world of noise, and deeper into the quiet heart of the question.