The sickness had been purged, the town of Frae was healing, and their time there had come to an end. After the plague, there had been little trouble gathering what they needed.
The people were eager to repay them—warm furs, sturdy climbing gear, thick boots suited for mountain travel. A few of the town's hunters had even gifted them ice axes and rope, things they hadn't even considered needing.
One old man, stooped with age but sharp-eyed, had pulled Aldric aside the morning of their departure.
"I used to climb the Wall in my younger days," he had said, his voice thick with memory. "There's an entrance, of sorts, but calling it that is being generous. It's a cursed thing, that path—a sheer cliff, steps carved into the stone. The wind howls like a beast, and the cold will steal your breath if you let it."
Aldric had taken his words to heart.
Now, halfway up the damn cliffside, he understood exactly what the man had meant.
The path was less a trail and more a series of carved footholds and treacherous ledges, each step a calculated struggle against gravity itself.
Their muscles burned with every movement, and even the liberal use of healing prayers did little to ease the exhaustion building in their limbs. It wasn't just the climb—it was the altitude, the thinning air, the sheer effort required just to keep moving.
Aldric's shoulders ached, his pack dragging at him like dead weight. His breath came in steady, controlled exhales, but he could feel the strain. Five hundred meters. That was all they had climbed. And it already felt like they had ascended a damn mountain.
Lysara wasn't handling it much better.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered for what had to be the tenth time in the last hour. She dug her ice axe into the icy rock and hauled herself onto the narrow plateau where Aldric was already resting.
Her scales had darkened to an agitated storm-grey, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. She flopped down on the rock beside him, legs sprawled out in front of her, glaring at the path ahead like it had personally wronged her.
"My legs," she groaned. "They'll never recover. I'll die here, pathetically, my body crumpled against this cursed mountain."
Aldric smirked, adjusting the strap of his pack. "You're being dramatic."
Lysara slapped the side of his boot. "I'm suffering, Aldric."
"You're alive," he pointed out, stretching his arms over his head. "And still moving."
"For now," she grumbled, tilting her head back against the rock, eyes closed. "By tomorrow, I'll be nothing but regrets and pain."
Aldric huffed a quiet laugh, then, after a moment, glanced at her. "…Want me to work out the tension?"
Lysara's eyes snapped open, pupils narrowing slightly. "What?"
He shrugged, stretching his fingers. "A massage. It helps with muscle fatigue."
Lysara stared at him, her expression unreadable. Aldric could see the moment she almost refused—the sharp shift of her jaw, the slight flaring of her nostrils as if ready to brush off the offer out of sheer pride.
But then, just as quickly, the tension eased from her shoulders.
"…Fine," she muttered, turning away just enough that she didn't have to look at him directly. "But if you make this weird, I'll throw you off the mountain."
Aldric rolled his eyes but shifted closer.
The moment his hands pressed against her shoulders, he realized just how much tension she had been holding. Her muscles were like iron, coiled so tight that he wondered how she was still standing.
The first few minutes were awkward as hell. Lysara was unnaturally still, her breathing slow but measured.
But then, as his hands worked through the knots of tension, she exhaled—a slow, steady breath that let him know it was actually helping.
They sat in silence, the only sounds the distant howl of the wind and the occasional crack of ice shifting on the mountain.
When he finished, Lysara rolled her shoulders, flexing her arms experimentally.
She gave him a long, considering look.
Then, simply, "Thanks."
Aldric shrugged. "Try not to die of muscle failure tomorrow."
Lysara huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "We'll see."
And with that, she settled in for the night, curling into her cloak, the exhaustion finally winning out.
Aldric stayed awake a little longer, listening to the wind, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
They still had a long way to climb.
And climb they did.
Higher than the valleys below, beyond the frozen cliffs where the wind howled like a living thing. The path—if it could even be called that—twisted up the sheer face of the Wall, a treacherous staircase of ancient stone, each step a test of endurance.
It took longer than they had expected.
The dangers weren't just the thin air and the biting cold—they faced challenges neither of them had prepared for.
A rockslide nearly sent them tumbling to their deaths, the ground trembling beneath their feet as a cascade of loose stone thundered down the mountainside. They had barely managed to find cover before the dust cleared, revealing the path half-buried, forcing them to climb over unstable debris.
The air betrayed them next. The higher they went, the harder it became to breathe. No matter how deeply they inhaled, it was never enough—as if the mountain itself was trying to squeeze the life from their lungs. Even Aldric's healing prayers offered little relief. They weren't meant for something like this.
But worst of all was the feeling of being watched.
It started as a prickling along the back of Aldric's neck, an instinctual awareness that they were not alone. Lysara felt it too—he could tell by the way her scales bristled, her silver eyes constantly flicking toward the ridges above them.
"The Believers are watching," she muttered once, after they had stopped to rest.
Aldric swallowed hard, his breath coming in slow, careful pulls. "And judging," he said.
Neither of them knew if they were being deemed worthy—or found lacking.
The climb stretched for what felt like eternity. Every step stole their strength, every breath was a battle. But somehow—against the mountain, against the cold, against the unseen watchers—they made it.
And they weren't prepared for what they found.
The summit should have been barren rock, a desolate peak where snow and sky met in endless expanse. Instead, the mountains had formed a natural basin, cradled high above the world.
Within that basin, a city thrived.
A lake stretched across the valley floor, its surface unnaturally still, reflecting the morning light like polished glass. Beyond it, nestled against the mountainsides, lay a town—no, a sanctuary.
But it wasn't like any settlement Aldric had ever seen.
The architecture was smooth, elegant, seamless, buildings rising from the earth as if they had grown there rather than been built. Metal gleamed in places where he expected stone, but not crude iron or bronze—something finer, something more advanced.
Lysara stared, her expression unreadable.
"What… is this?" she breathed.
Aldric didn't have an answer.
All he knew was that they had reached the top of the world.
The city within the basin was unlike anything Aldric or Lysara had ever seen. It thrived with precision and purpose, its people moving about their day with an efficiency that felt both practical and ritualistic. The architecture was elegant, almost seamless, as though the city had grown from the mountain itself rather than being built upon it.
But the moment Aldric and Lysara stepped through the outer gates, the air around them shifted.
Hundreds of eyes were upon them.
A man approached, stepping forward from the gathered crowd. He was short, petite, and clad in deep blue robes adorned with celestial embroidery. His features were sharp, his gaze piercing yet unreadable. Despite the intensity of his presence, there was no hostility in his stance—only assessment.
Behind him, others gathered, each group visibly distinct in their mannerisms, attire, and physical traits. Aldric didn't have to ask—he could already tell.
The Believers of the Stars were not one people, but three.
The man in blue robes inclined his head. "I am Dances-in-Sky, leader of the Caelites, those who follow the Sky-Father."
Aldric noticed that all the Caelites shared certain unusual features—small in stature, their skin textured like stone, as if weathered by years of wind and altitude. Their eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence, and their movements were quick, precise, as if they could read the currents of the air itself.
Dances-in-Sky turned, gesturing to the next figure.
"This is All-Seeing-Mother," he continued. "She leads the Lunari, the Chosen of the Night-Mother."
All-Seeing-Mother glided forward, her steps too smooth to be entirely human, as though she were floating rather than walking. Aldric's eyes flicked over her tattoos—constellations traced across her skin in delicate, glowing ink, shifting ever so slightly, as if mirroring the sky itself.
But it wasn't just her—all the Lunari bore those same markings, their eyes unnervingly large, allowing them to see through darkness, shadow, and perhaps things beyond the veil.
Then came the final figure.
A broad-framed man, a little shorter than Aldric but built with unmistakable strength, stepped forward with an easy confidence. His presence radiated warmth, like standing too close to a forge—not unpleasant, but impossible to ignore.
"I am Grund, leader of the Solari, the followers of the Sun-King," he said, voice deep, rich, and carrying an effortless authority.
Unlike the other two, the Solari did not share a singular form. They came in all shapes and sizes, but they exuded warmth—both literal and metaphorical. Their emotions were easy to detect, their passions felt rather than seen.
Each group studied Aldric and Lysara, their gazes weighing them, some filled with curiosity, others with quiet recognition.
Aldric shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. He didn't like being watched like some curiosity on display.
"Not to be rude—" he started.
Dances-in-Sky's lips quirked into a smirk. "But you've heard that the Believers of the Stars aren't very inviting?"
Aldric hesitated but gave a small nod.
All-Seeing-Mother stepped forward, her silver-lit eyes unreadable. "Your arrival was written in the stars. The Future-Seers say it is important that we assist you."
Aldric exchanged a glance with Lysara.
There were no allies more devoted to the gods than the Believers of the Stars. And if their Future-Seers had received divine insight about their presence, then whatever lay ahead was no longer just a question of chance it was fate.
The Believers' energy was unmatched. There was no time for rest, no pause to take in the staggering city carved into the mountains. Before Aldric and Lysara had even settled, they were led deeper into the peaks, past winding paths and towering stone spires that stretched toward the sky like the bones of ancient titans.
The air thinned, making every breath feel shallower, but the people of the city moved effortlessly, unfazed by the climb. Their celestial heritage was evident in every step, in the way they walked as if the mountain itself carried them forward.
Finally, they reached a cave mouth—its entrance etched with celestial symbols, carved so deeply into the rock that they seemed to hum with residual energy. The air here felt denser, charged, as though something beneath the earth was waiting.
A Solari blacksmith awaited them at the threshold. She stood with the unshakable presence of someone who had shaped the will of gods into steel, her arms scarred from years of forging, her gaze assessing. Behind her, other Believers gathered, watching in silent reverence.
"The Future-Seers have spoken of your task," the blacksmith said, her voice like smoldering embers. "You require one last piece."
She gestured toward the cave beyond, her eyes glinting in the low light.
"You must enter the mountain and find ore that resonates with your spirit. It is not just metal—it will become a part of you. Your hands will know it when you find it."
Aldric frowned. "And how exactly do we know which ore is meant for us?"
A Lunari elder beside the blacksmith chuckled, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet somehow filling the space around them.
"You will hear it. Feel it." His silvered eyes flickered with something knowing. "The mountain does not give lightly, but it does not hide from those who listen."
As soon as they entered, an overwhelming heaviness descended upon them.
It was silent—not the kind of silence that came from emptiness, but something deeper. As if the stones themselves were waiting.
Aldric ran his fingers along the rough cave walls, the cool surface beneath his hand pulsing with something unseen. Lysara moved beside him, her nostrils flaring slightly, her silver eyes narrowing as if she were sensing something beyond sight.
They pressed forward.
The deeper they went, the more the silence thickened. There was no wind, no echoes, nothing but their own breathing. The kind of absence that made the hairs on the back of Aldric's neck stand on end.
Then—he felt it.
A pull—faint at first, like a whisper at the edge of his senses. His steps slowed.
Lysara noticed immediately. "You feel something."
Aldric didn't answer. He just moved. His body responded instinctively, drawn toward a vein of metal embedded in the cavern wall. The moment his fingers brushed the ore, a warmth spread through his arm, familiar yet foreign.
It felt like the first time he had ever called upon Tellik's blessing.
He turned to Lysara. "This one."
As his palm pressed against the stone, the ore loosened itself, tumbling into his hands as if it had simply been waiting.
Lysara tilted her head, considering him before rolling her shoulders. "Guess I should find mine, then."
She inhaled deeply, sifting through the air with her heightened senses, her eyes closing briefly as she searched for the ore's presence—then, without hesitation, she moved.
Aldric watched as she walked with unwavering purpose, her body pulling her to something unseen. She stopped, standing before a separate vein of dark, shimmering ore. The instant her hand met the stone, her scales flared with light, the air around her humming in recognition.
Lysara smirked, knocking her knuckles against the ore. "Found it."
The mountain had given its answer.
Now, it was time to forge.