The descent from Mount Shalan was a quiet funeral for the troop itself. The wind, which moments before was a deep lament, now whistled in sharp hisses.
The throbbing pain in Kessa's leg, which she dragged with every step, was a physical impression of the deeper wound in her soul. The dignity that should have marked Bura's farewell had vanished, leaving only the bitter taste of a sacrifice she felt had not been understood.
She stumbled, her leg intensely betraying her. The branch she used as a crutch sank into the soft snow, and a groan of frustration and agony escaped her lips.
It was then that a juvenile, yet adult, long-limbed monkey, whose eyes still held a reflection of the world before the eternal ice—slowed his pace and came to her side, helping her, his silence more convincing than any word of pity, until he said:
— Was it worthy? — the young male whispered, gazing up at the top of Mount Shalan, already invisible in the mist: — Bura always liked high places. To see far.
Kessa nodded, her jaws clenched. Her gaze, however, was not on the mountaintop, but fixed on the two figures ahead: Mogu, trudging with his head bowed, and the great, furry shadow of Shal'falah, a living, walking reminder of that bloody day.
She saw the feline's silver claws, clean of blood now, yet never clean of the memory of what they did. Of murdering Bura.
— Still... — the young male's speech broke due to an internal confusion that gnawed at him. — Still, I cannot understand. How could Mogu ally himself with him? How could he allow the claws that tore Bura, that ripped the life from him... to be the same ones that burned his lifeless body? In the end, the predator reigned over the ashes of its prey.
His words acted as a fuse, igniting the fury Kessa was already experiencing. The contained rage, the pain converted into resentment, the loyalty to Bura—everything exploded. Her fingers, gloved in raw hide, gripped the branch until it cracked, threatening to split.
— Mogu doesn't see a murderer — she spat the words out, low and venomous, her breath forming clouds in the cold air. — He thinks he can have the loyalty of an animal like that. He washed Bura's blood from that predator's paws and called it an alliance. In such little time, he forgot who he was. — the gray monkeys were already evolving their communication, in a natural way, perhaps.
The young monkey narrowed his eyes, suspicious. The seed of uncertainty, nurtured by Kessa's cunning and venomous words, grew quickly.
He glanced back at the others.
An older female, who had lost her entire first litter to a pack of wolves on a winter night so many years ago, stopped walking. Her eyes fixed on Shal'falah with hatred.
Another strong-built male who had always disdained Mogu's intellectual leadership, snorted with contempt, his fists clenching. He didn't need words; his whole body agreed with Kessa.
The distrust did not spread slowly. It erupted.
Sharp whispers sawed through the icy air. "He was always too much of a fighter and too little of a thinker." "He preferred the enemy's strength to our weakness." "Kessa, yes, she carried Bura's burden. She fought." "She is as much a leader as Bura."
Before the protective shadow of the mountain completely abandoned them, the troop stopped.
It was not an order.
An instinctive block, an organism turning against a part of itself. They turned as one being, and Kessa, fueled by a pain that transcended the physical, painfully raised herself onto her good leg, still facing Mogu. Her face, pale, was a mask of pain transformed into pure accusation.
— Mogu! — her voice was not a shout, it was a dry snap, like the sound of a branch breaking under the burden of ice.
Mogu and Shal'falah turned around. Mogu looked exhausted, his features marked by a sadness embedded in his being.
Shal'falah, meanwhile, instantly read the hostility in the air.
His muscles tensed beneath his striped fur, and a guttural growl emerged from his throat, vibrating in the chest bone of every monkey present. He took a step forward, placing his massive body between Mogu and the threat, his claws digging into the snow with a sinister and final sound.
The sensation of death hovered in the primates' moods.
Mogu was momentarily paralyzed. He saw not revolt, but fear in the eyes of his people—fear that was transfused into hatred. He saw Shal'falah's primitive, murderous loyalty, ready to unleash a massacre to protect him. The abyss opened before him.
Then, a terrible calm descended upon him. The leader, with acceptance, foresaw his final sunset. He raised his hand—slowly, deliberately—and placed it on Shal'falah's flank. That contact was intended to restrain him. A gesture of sophisticated command.
— Calm yourself, Guardian — It was an order, flat, of decisive authority. — They are my people.
He swept the troop with his gaze, stopping at Kessa and all the others. He recognized his own past, the arduous journey, the loved ones, in those faces that, at that moment, rejected him.
— You are wrong about me — he said, and his voice sounded incredibly soft, almost a sigh laden with all the weariness of the world. — But you are right about one thing. My leadership here is over. If this is the path you choose, I will not rise against you.
He took a deep breath, as if it were the last time he would breathe the same air as them.
— But I will not allow more blood to be spilled. Not yours. Not theirs. — He accented the word: — Not today and not any day.
He paused, structuring the following words:
— Stay. Follow Kessa. She has the fire you need now. — he articulated an irony and faced Kessa in defiance. — I... I will leave. There is a knowledge I need to seek. Something that only the Guardians, that only Shal'falah, can show me. The fire he used to liberate Bura... is not just for destruction, it can warm us from the cold, drive away the darkness, cook the tough food that keeps us alive. To save. If one day I want to challenge this ice that consumes us, I need to master it. That is my exchange with Shal. — it was a magnificent and agonizing speech.
He did not want to go.
He wanted the familiar scent of the troop, the sound of their foolish discussions, the piled-up warmth on cold nights. Every fiber of his being screamed to stay. But he turned his back and took a step into the soft snow, moving away from them.
— There is nothing I can do since you are decided. — he said, over his right shoulder. — I just want you to survive.
Shal'falah hesitated, casting a final look of pure warning at the troop, a growl that probably said; "I spared you this time."
His loyalty now belonged to Mogu.
With a grunt of disdain, he bent back and began to open a path, his powerful figure carving a trench in the snow.
Mogu's back, erect and full of an unbearable dignity, was the last thing his troop saw of him before the thick veil of snow and twilight swallowed them, transforming them into two indistinct smudges that dissolved into the infinite white.
Kessa stood stagnant, the uncrowned leader. The wind howled around her, colder and sharper than ever.
There was no triumph on her face. Only the icy void of conquest.
She surveyed the surroundings, looking at the troop that was now hers; they looked smaller, shrunken, diminished. Frightened. Alone.
They were free from Mogu and from Shal'falah.
And, for the first time, completely and irremediably lost. The white vastness around them had never seemed so immense, or so empty.