Morning came with the scent of dew and the gentle hum of wagon wheels rolling over packed dirt. The inn had grown quiet in the early hours, save for the soft ctter of preparations as we readied for departure.

  The journey to the foot of Skyridge Mountain took most of the day. The road grew narrower with every mile, the air thinner, the sky clearer. Towering trees lined the path, their branches whispering as if aware of where we were headed. In the distance, Skyridge loomed—its snow-dusted peaks slicing through the clouds like ancient bdes.

  By te afternoon, we reached the final stop before our climb—a quiet, wind-brushed town nestled at the base of Skyridge Mountain. It was a pce built for endurance, not charm: sturdy lodges with stone-weighted roofs, weatherworn shops lining narrow streets, and smoke rising in soft spirals from chimney tops. The air carried a sharp bite, and the wind moved through the town like it had lived there longer than anyone else.

  Locals passed us by with polite nods, their steps brisk, their gazes brief. No one lingered.

  “It’s colder here,” Theoden muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He turned to his younger brother. “Trev, make sure you’re wearing your warm yers properly.”

  Trevon stretched stiffly as he dismounted, eyes scanning the town before settling on the towering silhouette of the mountain. His brows knit together, and for a moment, hesitation flickered in his eyes.

  “Do we really have to start climbing tomorrow?” he asked, voice low as if hoping the mountain might somehow spare him.

  “You sound surprised,” Constantine replied dryly. “Did you think the mountain would come down to meet us?”

  Trevon gave him a half-hearted scowl but didn’t argue. He was clearly saving what little energy he had left.

  I tilted my head up toward the peaks. Even after everything—after Moonshade Peak, after the ginseng, after months of training and preparation—standing here now, face to face with Skyridge Mountain, brought a silence over me. Not fear. Not awe. Just stillness.

  A quiet kind of knowing.

  This was the beginning of something.

  “This will be the st night we rest in comfort,” Constantine said calmly. “Check your gear, get what you need. We start the ascent at dawn.”

  No one questioned it. We simply nodded.

  As we moved deeper into the town, a strange sense of anticipation settled around us—not heavy, not suffocating. Just present. Like the mountain was aware.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  ? 2025 baobaochong – All rights reserved.