They all left the ravine,
leaving behind the echo of what had happened…
and leaving Rak's body laid out among the cold rocks, as if he had never truly been part of the journey—
just a stone fate had stumbled over, then cast aside.
No one looked back.
Even the mountain, which had witnessed everything, chose silence.
They walked.
Their steps were heavy—not only from exhaustion, but from all that remained unsaid.
The road stretched ahead of them in shades of gray, morning fog curling around their feet, the cold slowly seeping into bone.
Rolin walked at the front, Lulu in his arms.
Her small, steady breaths tapped gently against his chest, like the only heart in this world still beating the way it should.
An hour passed.
Then Lulu stirred.
She shifted slightly, her small brows knitting together before she slowly opened her eyes.
Above them, the sky was a dull silver, the sun still too low to offer warmth.
She whispered softly, her voice still half-drowned in sleep:
"Big brother…
good morning."
Rolin stopped walking.
Not abruptly—
but with the smoothness of someone who had been waiting for this moment, even if he'd never admitted it to himself.
He looked at her.
His smile wasn't wide, nor forced.
But it was real—
rare.
"Good morning, Lulu."
She raised a tiny hand and rubbed her eyes, then looked around slowly, as if rearranging the world inside her head.
"Were we… sleeping?"
she asked, tilting her head.
"Why is the ground moving?"
Rolin chuckled softly—a short laugh no one heard but her.
"Because we're walking."
She yawned, then clutched his shirt a little tighter, her voice growing weaker:
"Where's Uncle Rak?
He promised to teach me how to make fire without magic…"
Silence fell.
Likath's steps slowed behind them.
Even the wind seemed to lower its voice in respect for the question.
Rolin didn't look away.
He didn't dodge it.
He simply tightened his arms around her slightly, as if the world might become less cruel if he held her closer.
"Rak…"
he said calmly,
"chose another path."
Lulu looked at him with wide eyes, trying to understand—not as a naïve child, but as a small being learning for the first time that the world doesn't always explain itself.
"Will he come back?"
A pause.
No more than a fraction of a second.
Then:
"No."
She was quiet.
Then, unexpectedly, she nodded slowly.
"Okay…"
she said, then smiled—a faint, innocent, heartbreaking smile.
"When he comes back, I'll show him how I learned by myself."
Rolin clenched his teeth.
But he smiled at her.
"I'm sure he'll be proud."
They resumed walking.
But this time,
there was something different in their steps.
And behind them, deep within the mountains,
something stirred.
Not because of the corpse…
but because of an unspoken promise.
A promise that the blood spilled today
would not be the last.
They walked for a long time—
long enough for the sense of time to dissolve,
long enough for exhaustion to become a silent companion that no longer complained.
When darkness finally fell, they stopped in a sheltered hollow between massive, smooth boulders—
not jagged,
as if the mountains themselves had decided—for once—not to be enemies.
Likath lit the fire with a single practiced motion.
The flame jumped small at first, then steadied, casting dancing shadows over their weary faces.
He handed Lulu a waterskin, then a carefully roasted piece of meat.
She took it with both hands and looked up at him with shining eyes.
"Thank you, Uncle Likath."
He didn't answer.
He only nodded, turning his face slightly so no one would see his eyes.
Novak sat apart from them, alone on a rock, warming his hands over a small fire he'd lit for himself.
His shoulders were hunched, as if he wished to shrink his presence… or hide it.
As for Rolin—
He rose quietly, leaving the warmth of the fire behind.
He walked beyond the ring of stones, one step… then another,
until darkness swallowed half his body.
He stopped.
The air here was different.
Heavier.
Cleaner… and colder.
He lifted his head slightly and exhaled slowly, his breath turning into pale mist.
' The deeper we go…
the colder it becomes '
He wasn't speaking aloud.
Nor was he expecting an answer.
It was an observation…
and a warning.
He felt something unseen watching them from deep within the mountains—
not eyes,
but presence.
As if the place itself were breathing.
Behind him, Lulu's small laughter pierced the night—
warm, innocent,
as if challenging the cold… the darkness… and everything waiting for them.
Rolin glanced back.
At the fire.
At the light.
At the child.
Then he turned his gaze back to the dark.
And inside him,
he knew—
This night
would not be just a rest.
Rolin looked toward the ravine, now far behind them—
so far it resembled an old wound in the mountain's body.
And yet—
It was still visible.
That was when he saw it.
…
Blood.
A dark line seeping across the snow, uneven—
as if the mountain itself were bleeding.
Rolin froze in place.
He didn't need time to think.
The image was clear. Brutal. Unmistakable.
The beast…
had devoured Rak's body.
And it hadn't stopped there.
It was coming closer.
A cold shiver crawled up Rolin's spine—
not from the cold,
but from the certainty that something in this mountain had begun moving toward him.
'Damn it…
it's closer than thought'.
He turned calmly, betraying nothing on his face,
and walked back into the circle of rocks.
Likath looked at him immediately—the gaze of a soldier who never sleeps.
He asked quietly:
"Anything?"
Rolin shook his head.
"No… nothing. Everything's calm."
It was a clean lie.
A necessary one.
He sat, ate a few bites without appetite,
then lay down near the fire.
He closed his eyes.
But his sleep was shallow.
Watchful.
Like a man sleeping with his sword still in hand.
At the first gray threads of dawn,
they all woke.
This time, Likath carried the sleeping Lulu, wrapped in his cloak—
her breathing calm, her face innocent, knowing nothing of blood or monsters.
Rolin tightened the leather pack over his shoulder.
Novak walked ahead of them,
his confidence artificial,
as if the mountains feared him… and not the other way around.
They moved slowly.
Minutes…
then an hour…
then two.
The silence was heavier than fatigue.
Then—
"Aaagh!"
A sharp scream tore through the air.
Novak vanished from sight,
plunging into a pit hidden beneath a thin layer of snow.
"Get me out!"
he screamed in terror.
"I think— I think my leg is broken!"
Likath approached the pit.
Looked down.
One glance.
Cold.
Calm.
Then—
he kept walking.
"Soldier!"
Novak screamed hysterically.
"You're responsible for protecting prisoners!
Do your job!"
Likath stopped.
He didn't turn around.
His voice was flat, devoid of emotion:
"My job…
is to protect you
until you reach your death."
He took another step.
"And you…
have arrived."
Novak's eyes widened,
his curses exploding like a trapped animal:
"Damn you, you bastard!
Damn you!
I saved you!
You son of a whore!"
Likath didn't respond.
He didn't slow down.
The snow swallowed his footsteps,
and the mountain swallowed Novak's curses without care.
The old man suddenly turned to Rolin,
his eyes filled with desperate pleading:
"Young man…
you're with me, aren't you?
You and I understand each other…
Come on, help this old man!"
Rolin approached the pit.
Looked down at Novak.
A cold gaze.
Empty.
As if it saw no human…
only something else.
He spoke softly—lethally:
"Be a good bait…
you son of a bitch."
Then he turned.
And walked after Likath.
Behind him,
Novak's screams continued,
then turned to curses,
then to pleas,
then—
to silence,
swallowed by the mountain…
as it swallows
everything.