Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air by the time Rowan and Bjorn left Stormreach Village behind. The wide cobblestone streets had shrunk into a single winding trail, and the laughter of the villagers faded until it felt like the world had gone quiet. The higher they climbed, the stronger the wind became.

Rowan pulled his hood tighter, his boots crunching over the frosty stones. He glanced back just once. The village roofs lay far below, smudged gray by distance and snow, like a cluster of sleeping animals curled in the valley. For a moment, it felt like stepping into another world altogether, but the compass in Rowan’s hand still pointed toward the Stormreach Peaks.

Bjorn shuffled up beside him, blowing warm air into his gloved hands. “You sure this trail’s the right one?” he asked, eyeing the jagged ridges towering above them. “Feels like we’re climbing straight into the clouds.”

Rowan nodded, though a knot tightened in his chest. “It’s where the compass points.”

Bjorn forced a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, let’s hope it’s not pointing us off a cliff.”

The path curled higher into the mountains, threading between towering pines thick with snow. Strange flowers poked from cracks in the rocks, their petals shimmering like tiny mirrors. Even the birds that passed overhead flew in silence, their wings cutting the air with no sound at all, as though the cold had stolen their voices.

At last, they came to a crooked wooden sign half-buried in frost. Rowan brushed away the snow. The faded words still showed:

← Stormreach Village
↑ Stormreach Peaks
→ Stonehaven

Bjorn tapped the wood and let out a whistle. “Stonehaven, huh? Bet it’s even colder than this place.”

But Rowan wasn’t listening. His eyes caught on something small, tiny runes etched beneath the paint. They curled in a pattern like frost, glowing faintly before fading back into the wood.

“Did you see that?” Rowan asked, leaning closer.

Bjorn looked around. “See what?”

“…Nothing,” Rowan murmured. “Probably just the wind.”

They turned toward the arrow pointing to the peaks. The trail narrowed until it clung to the mountainside, a thread of stone on the cliff’s edge. And then, it suddenly ended.

A vast gorge split the mountains, and across it stretched a rope bridge. Its frayed ropes swayed, creaking with every gust. Far below, the Stormreach River foamed between boulders.

Bjorn squinted at the bridge. “That thing looks older than my grandpa’s boots.”

“Or his grandpa’s,” Rowan chuckled.

Some planks were missing. Others dangled crooked, as if one strong gust might tear them loose. But on the far side, a stone path waited, curling into the snowy peaks.

“We don’t have another choice,” Rowan said quietly.

Bjorn poked the rope with one mitten. It wobbled like jelly. “If we fall, I hope that river’s deep.”

They stepped onto the bridge. It shuddered under their weight but held. They crouched, moving carefully as the wind howled, clawing at their cloaks. Below, the river writhed like a snake. Halfway across, Rowan froze. Up ahead, the air rippled. A faint sparkle stretched from rope to rope, a glowing line like heat rising from stone.

“Do you see that?” he shouted, but the wind blew so hard it sounded more like a whisper.

Bjorn narrowed his eyes. “Looks like another Shimmer.”

Rowan’s stomach dropped. The Shimmer pulsed, reminding him of what happened in the forest of Willowfen. Only this time, it was directly in their path.

He stepped back. “I can’t go in there again.”

Bjorn nodded quickly. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn back and find another way around.”

But when they turned, the wind shrieked like a living thing. The ropes behind them twisted violently. Suddenly, one of the planks split beneath their feet, and the bridge lurched sideways.

“Hold on!” Bjorn shouted, clutching Rowan’s arm.

They gripped the ropes as the shimmer flared brighter, like it wouldn’t let them escape. Behind them, the path was already gone, swallowed by falling snow. Or maybe it had never been there at all.

Rowan’s throat felt dry. “We have to go through.”

Bjorn didn’t like it, but he nodded. 

Step by step, they edged toward the glowing Shimmer. Rowan reached out, and the cold air snapped around them as they stepped through the shimmer. The air froze against their skin. Everything went still, and the sky vanished in a flash of crimson light.

The snowy peaks had warped into jagged black ridges, cracked wide by rivers of molten fire. Lava pulsed through the stone like glowing veins, sending up bursts of orange light that painted the cliffs in shifting firelight. Smoke rose in slow, lazy curls, red at the edges like embers ready to burst. The Stormreach Peaks were gone. What stood in their place looked like a volcano torn straight from a dream.

Rowan staggered back a step. “W-What happened to the mountains?”

Bjorn’s eyes darted around. “Are we… still in Althoria?”

Beneath their feet, the bridge groaned. Rowan leaned over the edge and gasped.

The Stormreach River had transformed into a molten torrent. Lava churned in waves of red and gold, lighting up the underside of the bridge with fiery flashes. Sparks floated into the air like fireflies, and jagged rocks drifted weightless, spinning slowly as though gravity had forgotten them.

Bjorn’s knuckles whitened on the railing. “Okay. This is officially weird.”

“Look up,” Rowan whispered.

Above them, a scarlet aurora rippled across the sky, slow and hypnotic, like spilled paint dancing in the clouds. The moon’s glow washed everything in ghostly light. From deep within the mountains came a low, echoing chant. It wasn’t loud, but Rowan felt it in his bones, prickling down his arms—voices singing from the stone.

Bjorn turned in a slow circle. “This place feels like a nightmare.”

He glanced behind them. The far side of the bridge, where they’d started, was still right there. Just a few steps away.

That made no sense. Rowan and Bjorn crossed at least halfway—maybe more.

Bjorn’s jaw dropped. “Did we even move?”

Rowan shook his head and looked ahead. The bridge continued over the river of lava and into the dark.

And then Rowan froze.

Someone was there.

Or… something.

A tall figure waited in silence. Its armor was dark, streaked with glowing veins of blue light, as though molten energy lived inside the cracks. A great shield rested on its arm. In its other hand was a curved silver blade.

The figure’s helmet carried the likeness of an owl’s face. Its round eyes glowed like embers, and a hooked beak curved sharply over the mouthplate. The glowing eyes didn’t blink.

Bjorn stumbled back. “Uh… was that there before?”

Rowan’s throat felt tight. “…No. It wasn’t.”

The figure didn’t move, but the space around it rippled, as if the world bent to its presence. Heat from the lava surged stronger, and the bridge trembled beneath their boots.

Bjorn whispered, “Is it… Alive?”

The figure stirred unexpectedly. Not fast. Not threatening. Slowly, it lifted its sword, holding the glowing blade across the path, not at Rowan and Bjorn, but at the center of the bridge, drawing an invisible line.

And then it spoke. The voice was deep and smooth, echoing like stone grinding against stone, as if it came from inside the mountain.

“You seek what lies beyond the peaks. But before you may pass, you must be tested. Not with weapons. Not with strength. But with answers.”

Rowan straightened. His heart pounded like a drum, but he met the guardian’s glowing gaze. “What kind of answers?”

The sword lowered slightly. “A game of questions. Answer three and you may pass.”

“And if we get one wrong?” Bjorn asked.

The guardian did not speak. It didn’t need to. The silence was answer enough.