Chapter 109: The Spine
The cliff path narrowed until they had to walk single file. Jagged rock hemmed them in on one side; a sheer drop stretched endlessly on the other. Wind howled between the peaks, dragging mist across the ridge like slow-moving fingers. Somewhere far below, the sound of water echoed—a falls or a river, distant but constant.
Tomas walked ahead now, his bow slung and knife drawn. Mira followed, limping less with every step. Leon took the rear, eyes on the trail behind them. He didn’t speak. Neither did the others.
Every sound that wasn’t their breath felt suspicious.
The ridge twisted higher, narrowing again until they reached a crooked archway of stone. Beyond it, the path opened into a strange basin—natural, but sunken like an old crater. At the centre stood remnants of a tower. Or what was once one.
It was made of the same stone as the mountain, but older. Weathered. Cracked in spirals like dried clay. Vines clung to it, but none bore green. All the life here had a pallid sheen, as though the colour had been drained centuries ago.
Leon stepped into the clearing last. The wind stopped the moment he crossed the arch.
Not faded.
Stopped.
Mira turned. "Do you hear that?"
"No wind," Tomas said, notching an arrow again.
Leon crouched by a pile of broken stone. The cracks in the tower weren’t caused by time.