I
The village had long disappeared behind them, and the landscape had transformed from rolling hills into the jagged slopes of the mountains. The sun was hidden behind thick, brooding clouds, casting an eerie, diffuse light over the path ahead. A cold wind swept down from the peaks, carrying with it the scent of ice and ancient stone.
Elara led the way, her grip firm on the Heartstone, its light flickering in rhythm with her heartbeat. It was a beacon against the growing sense of dread that seemed to emanate from the mountains themselves. The others followed in silence, the weight of their task pressing down on them as the trail narrowed and the air grew thin.
The day was drawing to a close when they reached the base of a towering cliff, its face a sheer wall of rock and ice. Morgana, ever cautious, called for a halt.
"We'll camp here tonight," she said, her voice carrying the authority of experience. "There's no use trying to scale this in the dark."
