When you're staring at a mountain that appears to be alive, you start questioning the choices that led you here.
Rocks weren't supposed to breathe, let alone rearrange themselves like an overly enthusiastic game of Tetris.
It wasn't just the mountain's impossible geography—sections morphing from rock to vines to waterfalls in real time—that unsettled me.
No. It was the fact that while I was about to risk life and limb, someone else seemed completely unfazed by the ordeal.
From my peripheral vision, I caught a flicker of movement. Agnos, the smug purple-furred feline who had somehow become my unwelcome life coach, sat perched on a throne-like chair fashioned entirely from bones.
The staff must've prepared it specifically for him because, of course, he'd demand royalty-level seating.
