The Cragstone Mountains stood as a menacing barrier between Nilhas and New Rosia, their peaks shrouded in mist and legend. The locals whispered of strange lights in the caves and sounds that echoed like the wailing of forgotten souls. Yet, Nilhas pressed on, his feet heavy but purposeful against the uneven terrain.
As he ascended, the air grew thinner and colder. The once-distant peaks now towered over him, their jagged edges slicing through the orange-hued sky. The path narrowed, forcing him to tread carefully, his leather boots crunching against loose rocks. His shoulder throbbed where the creature's claws had raked him the night before, and the sting of the wound made every movement a challenge. He had bound it hastily with scraps of cloth, but he knew it would need proper care soon.
Halfway up the trail, he paused. A faint hum drifted through the air, soft and melodic, like the plucking of a harp. It wasn't the sound of wind or rockfall—it was deliberate, human, yet alien.
Cautiously, Nilhas gripped his mace tighter and edged toward the sound. As he rounded a bend, the trail opened into a small plateau, and he saw her.
She sat atop a weathered stone, her figure draped in a flowing silver cloak that shimmered like water under moonlight. Her hair, dark as midnight, fell in waves down her back, and a small lute rested in her lap. Her fingers moved deftly across the strings, drawing out the haunting melody that had drawn him here.
She looked up as he approached, her eyes a piercing green that seemed to see through him.
"You're not the first to tread this path, warrior," she said, her voice as melodic as her music. "And you won't be the last."
Nilhas stopped several paces away, his stance guarded. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice echoing off the surrounding cliffs.
"A traveler, like you," she replied, tilting her head. "But unlike you, I know what lies ahead."
Her words sent a chill through him. "What do you mean?"
She plucked a single string on her lute, the note hanging in the air. "The Cragstone Mountains are not merely a barrier. They are a proving ground. Many come seeking passage; few leave unchanged. And fewer still survive."
Nilhas frowned. "If you're trying to scare me, it won't work."
The woman smiled faintly, her gaze softening. "Not fear, warrior. Preparation. The creatures of Cortia may haunt your steps, but here, the mountain itself is your enemy. Remember that."
Before he could respond, the woman rose, the lute vanishing as if it had never existed. She stepped closer, her cloak billowing despite the still air.
"You seek the Academy, don't you?" she asked.
Nilhas stiffened. "How do you know that?"
Her smile widened. "The mountain knows, and so do I. Walk carefully, Nilhas. The path ahead is treacherous, but the answers you seek lie at its end."
And just like that, she was gone—fading into the mist as if she had never been there.
Nilhas stood frozen, the weight of her words pressing down on him. How had she known his name? And what did she mean by the mountain itself is your enemy?
Shaking off the unease, he turned back to the trail. There was no time to dwell on riddles. The Academy was still waiting.
As Nilhas climbed higher, the path grew more perilous. The air turned icy, and the once-sturdy trail crumbled beneath his feet. Each step was a gamble, and more than once, he had to catch himself to avoid falling into the abyss below.
Hours passed, the light fading into a dim twilight that painted the world in shades of gray. Just as he began to wonder if he would ever find a place to rest, the ground beneath him shifted.
It was subtle at first—a faint vibration that ran through his boots. Then it grew stronger, the tremor building into a rumble.
Nilhas barely had time to react before the earth split open, and a massive creature emerged from the rocks.
It was a golem, its body hewn from the same gray stone as the mountain. Standing at least ten feet tall, it towered over him, its glowing eyes fixed on his every move. Runes carved into its surface pulsed with an eerie blue light, and its arms ended in massive fists that could crush a man in a single blow.
Nilhas cursed under his breath, his grip tightening on his mace. He had faced many foes, but none like this.
The golem roared, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through the mountains. Then it charged.
Nilhas rolled to the side just as the golem's fist slammed into the ground where he had been standing, sending shards of rock flying in all directions. He rose quickly, swinging his mace at the creature's leg, but the blow glanced off the stone with little effect.
The golem turned, swinging its massive arm. Nilhas ducked, feeling the rush of air as the attack missed him by inches. He knew he couldn't overpower it with brute force—the creature was too large, too strong.
He needed to think.
His eyes darted across the battlefield, searching for any advantage. That's when he saw it—a faint crack running down the golem's chest, where the runes glowed brightest. It wasn't much, but it was a weakness.
The golem attacked again, and Nilhas dodged, moving closer to its chest. With a roar, he leapt, his mace aimed directly at the crack. The obsidian weapon connected with the glowing runes, and the impact sent a shockwave of light through the air.
The golem howled, its body shuddering as the runes flickered. Nilhas struck again, pouring every ounce of strength into his attack. This time, the runes shattered, and the golem let out one final, ear-splitting roar before collapsing into a pile of rubble.
Nilhas fell to his knees, breathing heavily. His body ached, and his wound burned, but he was alive. The mountain had tested him, but he had survived.
For now.
As the night deepened, Nilhas found a small cave to take shelter in. The fight with the golem had drained him, and his body screamed for rest.
He built a fire, its warmth a welcome reprieve from the biting cold. As he sat near the flames, his thoughts drifted to the mysterious woman he had met earlier. Her words haunted him. The mountain itself is your enemy.
Was the golem just the first of many trials? And if so, how many more would he have to face before reaching New Rosia?
He reached into his pack and pulled out a small, worn locket—the only thing he had left of his family. Inside was a simple sketch of his mother, father, and younger brother, Arthur.
"I'll keep going," he whispered to the locket. "For all of you."
The fire crackled, and for the first time in days, Nilhas allowed himself to hope.