Artam looked in horror at the snowy hills that surrounded him. This was not just a place where spring came late; Spring has never been here and never will. There was nothing but ice on the cold earth crackling under his boots. He sprinted past rocks that were twice his height.
The sun was hotter than the hottest day of summer, and bright enough to burn his eyes, with the timing sharp black and silver clouds coming and standing in front of him. Despite the sun, the air was tearing through the skin like a sharp knife.
Artam often looked over his shoulder as he ran, but could not see the pursuers. Only the desolate hills and the jagged black shadow…, Even though he couldn't see the shadows, he could hear the howls behind him, the metallic rumblings coming from his throat. Arqs were approaching, and Artam's strength was nearly exhausted.
In a desperate haste, Artam climbed a hill, then fell to his knees, groaning. Below, a thousand-meter chasm stretched out into a vast canyon. Steamy mists covered the floor of the canyon, their thick gray surfaces rough waves rolling and breaking slowly towards the abyss below Artam. In the depths of the valley, thunder roared and gray lightning flashed.
At the end of the ravine, Artam saw the mountain rising from the vehicle of the raging cloud waves. A black mountain that has destroyed all hope. That gloomy, frightening mountain was there, Mount Eblsur…the lord of the mountains that stretched to the seventh floor of the sky, encircling the earth, the Great mountain… They believed that the source of its greatness was composed of jade.
It seemed to Artam as if unseen hands were trying to pull him up the mountain, pulling on his arms and legs. His body twitched, ready to obey. His arms and legs stiffened. The ghostly threads of the mountain entwined around his heart, pulling it, beckoning it.
Suddenly a chill spread through his bones; An icy stickiness settled on his skin, and the air around him turned foul-smelling and damp. Artam stood up and continued running without looking back. He fled from the pursuer tugging at him, He ran and the icy ground passed under his feet.
His followers shrank and disappeared until only a faint dot remained on the horizon. He would not let his pursuer's cold hand grasp his collar. While they were coming to him, he tripped and fell...
Artam desperately swung a fist into the darkness to stop the voice that appeared in his mind as his followers approached him. The smell of death surrounded him. He could hear the sound of chains. Chains dangling at every step of his followers. A familiar voice echoed in the depths of Artam's mind. He was sure that if he listened well enough, he would understand.
Suddenly, a figure appeared before him, a figure with a face… He did not want to see the face looking at him. He didn't want to think about that face. It hurt to think about it. Artam was thinking of running away. He wanted to scream far away, couldn't find the breath to scream, couldn't breathe at all. A hand reached out towards him.