Chapter 197: The Peak
Lara chose the safer path that wound gently ahead, even though it would add hours to their journey.
The memory of Barett’s harrowing near-death experience at the hanging bridge loomed in her mind like a dark cloud. The sickening crack of the plank, his screams—those memories weighed heavily on her, pushing her toward caution.
She wasn’t willing to gamble—not today. Not with Abel and Barett in tow.
She prioritized safety over speed. The route, lined with towering trees and thick undergrowth, felt like a protective embrace, and she welcomed the respite it offered.
A year ago, she had climbed Ourea’s Peak for the first time after arriving in this backward era. Back then, when she was Lara Starr, she’d taken a different route—the quickest one—reaching the summit in half a day when others needed more than twenty-four hours. She’d felt invincible then, like the mountain itself bent to her will.
Unfortunately, that path was now unfamiliar. Where there was supposed to be just the steep incline at ninety degrees of jagged rocks and ledges that used to be her anchor, there were thick bushes and thorny vines.
Despite the challenges, she continued to push herself to the limit. She encountered a few poisonous snakes, but she was quicker than they were. The snakes that dared to challenge her didn’t live long enough to regret it.
By the time she crested the final ledge and stood at the peak after three gruelling hours, her arms were streaked with scratches, stinging with sweat and sap. But the view—wide skies painted in hues of blue and silver, the wind cool against her face—made every scrape worth it. And at a distance, to the west, was the unadulterated beauty of the Zandaya range, unhindered by the absence of skyscrapers.
"Cousin Lara, how long will it take us to reach the peak?" Behind her, Abel paused to ask, panting, sweat glistening on his forehead. He squinted up at the peak that still loomed above them, impossibly distant despite how far they’d come.
Lara shielded her eyes from the sun, scanning the ridge ahead. "Another two hours, maybe less," she said, voice steady but kind. "Let’s rest first. There’s a small clearing just ahead with a spring. We’ll eat, refill our bottles, and catch our breath."
Barett, weary to his bones, let out a deep sigh of relief. The gnawing hunger in his stomach and the parched dryness of his throat were almost unbearable. Each step felt like dragging lead weights, his legs echoing their anguish with sharp protests. A few more strides, and his legs would buckle beneath him like a fragile house of cards.