Chapter 38 Conversations With A Mountain God

### Chapter 38: A Conversation With A Mountain God

The silence that had fallen over the cave was suffocating. The distant growls, the scrape of claws against rock, had ceased, and in their place was an eerie stillness. Trill could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with the weight of something vast and ancient approaching.

Bren stood by his side, her molten blade now dim but still in hand, her body coiled like a spring. She was ready for a fight, but Trill's instincts told him that something different was happening, something he couldn't quite understand. The air had shifted, heavy with a sense of inevitability, as if the land itself were drawing a breath.

The voice that had spoken—deep and gravelly—still echoed in Trill's mind. **"You cannot hide from the forest's will."**

Before Trill could even respond, the ground beneath them shifted. A low rumble rolled through the cave, the walls vibrating slightly, and then, the mountain itself seemed to groan. It was the kind of sound that spoke of age, of something immense and eternal stirring deep beneath the earth.

Bren glanced at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion and wariness. "What the hell was that?"

Trill didn't answer immediately. He was listening to the mountain itself, trying to understand the tremor that rippled through his senses. The trees, the vines, and the earth were all connected to something far older than he was, something that had known his name even before he had remembered it.

The growl, the scraping—nothing else came. The silence was almost oppressive now, the kind of quiet you could feel in your bones.

Then, with a great shift, something heavy and profound entered the cave—though it made no sound as it approached. The shadows seemed to lengthen, bending toward it. The air became thicker, suffused with a strange warmth, like the forest itself had exhaled and now was breathing around them.

And then, stepping into the flickering light cast by the fire, something moved.

A towering figure emerged, draped in shadows that twisted around the cave walls like creeping ivy. Trill's breath caught in his throat as the shape solidified—before him stood a being of immense size, its form both humanoid and elemental, made entirely of stone and earth. Vines wrapped around its limbs, moss clung to its shoulders like an ancient cloak, and its eyes glowed faintly with an otherworldly light. It was as if the mountain itself had come to life.

Bren instinctively took a step back, her hand tight on her sword's hilt. She felt the weight of the creature's presence, the way the air seemed to thicken as if the very earth was watching them.

"You…" The voice came like a thunderclap from above, but not from a mouth. It seemed to resonate from within the very rocks. "You are the child of Granny Gruff."

The words hit Trill like a bolt of lightning. His heart skipped a beat, and memories—fragmented, fleeting—rushed back. Granny Gruff. The Sherpa. The Goatmen assassins. His past, always a hazy blur, suddenly felt more real, more tangible.

He straightened up, looking into the glowing eyes of the spirit with a mix of awe and confusion. "Granny Gruff… she… raised me," he said, the words almost escaping his lips before he fully realized what they meant. "But why do you know that? Who are you?"

The spirit's form seemed to shimmer, as though it was both part of the cave and part of the very mountain that surrounded them. The earth beneath Trill's feet seemed to hum, and for a moment, the mountain felt less like an inhospitable place and more like an old, sentient being watching over them.

"I am the spirit of the mountains," the entity said, its voice still echoing with the deep rumble of stone. "The land remembers all that passes upon it. Your blood calls to me, child of the Goatmen. And through you, the echoes of Granny Gruff reach across the land."

Bren exchanged a glance with Trill, her expression unreadable but her hand still gripped around the hilt of her sword. She didn't know what to make of this, but she knew enough to trust Trill's instincts.

"What do you want with me?" Trill asked, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of urgency. "I've been searching for answers—about the Sherpa, about Granny Gruff, about my past."

The mountain god didn't move, but Trill could feel its presence deep in his chest, like the thrum of a heartbeat shared between the earth and the sky.

"I will give you answers, child, though not all of them will be what you desire," the spirit said, its voice softening, almost tender. "Granny Gruff was not the only one who cared for you. The Goatmen were not the only ones who shaped you. Your path, though lost, is still written in the stones. But some paths are never meant to be walked alone."

Trill's brow furrowed as he stepped forward, his mind racing. "What do you mean? What happened to the Sherpa? Why was I taken from them? Where are they now?"

A deep rumble rolled through the cave, the walls vibrating beneath Trill's feet as the spirit's voice became more intense. "The Sherpa, your family, were taken by those who sought to break the bonds of nature. They were lost to a great force that tore them from the land, a corruption of earth and fire." The spirit paused, as if weighing the next words carefully. "But their legacy, their strength, lives within you."

Bren glanced at Trill, her expression shifting slightly. She was beginning to understand the depth of his connection to the Sherpa—and the weight of the responsibility it placed on him.

"But I don't understand," Trill said, struggling to make sense of what the spirit was telling him. "How is it possible that I didn't remember? How could I have been torn from them? Why did they leave me behind?"

The spirit's form shimmered again, as if the very air around them held a deep sadness. "The memories were stolen, child. And you were hidden away. Granny Gruff and the Goatmen kept you safe, but even they could not shield you from what was coming. The world itself shifted—those who sought to corrupt the lands began their work on the Sherpa. And in time, they cast you away, hoping that the memory of your people would be forgotten."

Trill's fists clenched as anger rose within him. "Who did this to them? Who took everything from me?"

The spirit's eyes flickered, glowing brighter for a moment, as if pained by the question. "A darkness was born of the earth itself, fed by greed, power, and fire. And now, that darkness stirs once more. Your path is bound to the remnants of the Sherpa, and in finding them, you will also uncover the secrets of the world."

The ground beneath them shifted once more, this time with a sense of finality. The spirit's voice grew quieter. "You must continue your journey, Trill. The forest has shown you one path. Now the mountains will show you another. You will face the darkness that threatens all that you love. But the mountains will be with you—if you choose to heed their call."

Trill stood frozen, his thoughts spinning, trying to process what had just been revealed to him. The Sherpa—the Goatmen assassins—his true family, all but lost to time and corruption. And yet, the mountain spirit was telling him that there was still hope, still a path forward.

"You speak of darkness," Trill said, his voice quieter now, more resolute. "But I have faced darkness before. And I will face it again. I will find the truth."

The spirit nodded, its massive form glowing with a faint, ethereal light. "Remember, child, not all truths are meant to be easy. But you must walk your path, whether it leads to salvation or to destruction."

With that, the mountain god began to fade, its form melting into the shadows of the cave. The temperature dropped slightly, but the weight of the spirit's presence remained in the air.

Bren, who had been quiet throughout the conversation, stepped forward. "What now?"

Trill exhaled slowly, his mind racing but a newfound clarity settling within him. "We move forward. The Sherpa's fate is still tangled with mine. I will find them. And I will make those who destroyed them pay."

As the spirit's presence fully dissipated, the cave once again became silent, but Trill felt a subtle shift within himself. The storm outside may have raged on, but for the first time in his life, he felt like he had a true sense of purpose. The road ahead would be fraught with danger, but he wasn't alone anymore.

Not really.

The mountain had spoken.

And now, it was time to listen.