The chill of the pre-dawn air bit at our fingers as we stepped outside, breath turning to mist with every exhale. The town was still asleep—windows shuttered, doors closed, the streets cloaked in silence except for the distant creak of ropes and the soft ctter of a stable hand finishing up morning chores.

  We were up before the sun.

  Lantern light flickered behind us as the st of our supplies were strapped to our packs—dried provisions, rope, aether-warmed cloaks, spare boots. Everything had been checked twice the night before.

  Nearby, crates were being carefully loaded—boxes filled with materials and goods intended for Master Ba. This time, the burden of carrying them rested on us. The climb ahead would be ours alone; our attendants would not be following beyond this point.

  Trevon hugged his arms close, shivering slightly. “I miss the inn already.”

  “Focus, Trev,” Theoden said sharply, his tone shedding its usual lightness. He adjusted the strap of his pack, eyes briefly flicking to the crates. “Keep an eye on the cart. That’s Master’s supply. No room for carelessness now.”

  The shift in him was clear. The older brother in him had surfaced fully—focused, grounded, already carrying the weight of responsibility. He knew the mountain wasn’t forgiving, and he wasn’t about to let Trevon treat it like a game.

  Constantine gave them both a dry look. “We haven’t even started the climb.”

  “Exactly,” Trevon muttered, undeterred. “Which means there’s still time to turn back.”

  Despite Theoden’s sternness, I could tell Trevon wasn’t trying to be difficult. He was joking, yes—but not out of immaturity. Maybe he sensed it too—that tension lingering beneath our quiet determination—and thought we needed something to ease the tightness in our chests.

  I gave them a look—half amused, half warning. That was enough. The words faded, and we fell into silence.

  Ahead of us, the mountain loomed like a slumbering titan, its jagged ridges wrapped in soft blue mist. The peaks glowed faintly beneath the pale touch of dawn, and the wind rolled down in slow, deliberate gusts—steady, heavy, like the mountain was breathing.

  I drew a breath of my own.

  “Let’s go,” I said quietly.

  Boots crunched over frost-ced earth as we moved forward, the familiar world slowly fading behind us. Each step pulled us higher, farther—into the unknown, into the cold, into the waiting silence of Skyridge Mountain.

  We chose a quiet clearing beneath the canopy of a towering tree, its broad limbs stretching outward like nature's own fortress. Sunlight filtered through the dense leaves in warm, golden shafts, casting dappled patterns over the forest floor. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying the earthy scent of moss, wild bark, and early spring blossoms. Birds chirped in the distance, and every so often, the underbrush rustled with the soft scurry of small creatures.

  With practiced efficiency, we set up our tents, staking them securely into the soft soil. Though the sun was beginning its descent, there was still enough light for one st task.

  "Theo," Constantine called, tugging the st strap of his bracer snug around his forearm, "let's go hunt for tonight's dinner. I saw fresh tracks not far from here."

  Theoden, who had already begun checking the string of his bow, gave a curt nod. "I'll bring the longbow. We might spot something near the brook."

  As the two turned to head into the woods, Theoden gnced back over his shoulder. "Cassius, Trev—watch the camp. Gather firewood, and get the fire started before it gets too dark."

  Constantine added with a smirk, "Try not to burn the forest down."

  "Got it," I said, nodding. Trevon zily raised a hand in acknowledgment, already scanning the treeline for decent kindling.

  We split off. Trevon veered into the woods while I followed a narrow path that curved toward the spring we passed earlier. Wildflowers lined the trail—soft purples and delicate whites, trembling slightly in the breeze. The sound of rushing water grew louder with each step.

  The spring was nestled in a hollow between two moss-draped stones. The water was crystal clear, flowing smoothly over pebbles and scattered petals. I knelt by the edge, filled the waterskin, and paused—just for a breath. There was a peace here that stilled even the nerves in my chest. Sacred.

  By the time I returned, the clearing was bathed in amber light. Trev stepped out from the trees almost simultaneously, a bundle of branches in his arms. But he was carrying something else, too.

  My pace slowed.

  "What… is that?" I asked, eyes narrowing.

  Trevon adjusted his grip slightly. In his arms was a tiny boar, no rger than a housecat. Its fur was rough and patchy, one hind leg twisted and smeared with dried blood. It whimpered softly but didn’t fight.

  "Got tangled in the roots," Trevon said quietly. "It looked right at me. Like it was asking for help. I couldn’t leave it."

  He knelt near the firepit and gently id the creature on a bnket. I stared at the small, trembling body, the injury sharp and raw. Something in me ached.

  "Alright," I said, grabbing our satchel. "Let’s treat it. I’m not sure if this wound salve works on boars, but it’s better than nothing."

  We worked in near silence. Trevon tore strips from an old tunic to bind the leg while I cleaned the wound and applied the cream. The creature flinched, but didn’t resist. It trusted us.

  "Poor thing," Trevon muttered. "Trap probably got it. At least it stopped bleeding."

  "Let’s just hope when it grows up, it remembers this and doesn’t charge us with its tusks." I said half jokingly.

  We finished just as Trevon sparked a fme in the firepit. Smoke curled up into the dusk air, mixing with the scent of sap and scorched bark.

  Then—

  Crack. Snap.

  A rustle from the east. We both froze.

  The underbrush burst open.

  She was enormous—towering, her bristled fur streaked with mud, her tusks jagged and glinting in the dying light. Her eyes were wide, manic, burning with maternal rage.

  "Oh no," I whispered.

  "That’s the mother," Trevon said, eyes going wide.

  The boar let out a thunderous grunt—and charged.

  "MOVE!" I shouted.

  I rolled left as Trevon dove toward the baby, scooping it up and sprinting toward the tents. The mother missed us by inches, crashing into the firewood pile and sending embers flying.

  "She thinks we hurt it!" Trevon yelled. "She’s not backing down!"

  He held the baby tight. The mother shrieked again, her hooves cwing at the ground.

  I stepped between them. "Don’t run," I said slowly. "She’ll chase."

  But it was too te.

  She lunged again.

  I grabbed Trevon’s arm and yanked. We crashed into the dirt. Her tusks tore through where we had stood.

  "Split up!" I shouted. "She’s tracking the one with the baby!"

  Trevon nodded and bolted left. I ran right, trying to draw her—but she turned, charging after him again.

  "TREV!"

  Branches split behind us—Theoden emerged, bow drawn. Constantine followed, sword gleaming.

  "Don’t kill her!" Trevon shouted. "She’s just after her baby!"

  "We’ll distract her, Keep running!" Theoden called back.

  "Drop it, Trev!" Constantine barked when he saw the baby hanging in Trevon's arms.

  "I can’t! She’ll charge anyway—and he’s hurt!"

  "Hold her attention!" I called, stepping into her path and throwing off my cloak.

  "Cassius, what are you doing?!" Constantine yelled.

  "Stan, ready the rope!" Theoden commanded.

  The boar screeched to a halt inches from my chest. I didn’t flinch.

  I held out my hands. Calm. Open.

  Then I knelt.

  "No one’s going to hurt your child," I said softly. "He was caught. We helped him."

  She huffed. Her shoulders trembled.

  "He’s safe," I whispered.

  Trevon appeared, breathless. Slowly, gently, he id the baby down.

  A weak squeal.

  The mother rushed forward—not to attack, but to check. She nuzzled him, sniffed, and adjusted her stance.

  Then… she settled. The fury melted from her limbs.

  She curled around him protectively.

  Silence fell.

  Then, without another sound, she turned and disappeared into the trees.

  Taking her baby with her.

  The only sound left was the rustling leaves and the soft crackle of the dying fire.

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