Chapter 50 The Hills Have Eyes and The Mountains Remember
### Chapter 50: The Hills Have Eyes and The Mountains Remember
The frozen volcanic mountains loomed ahead, jagged peaks cutting into the cold, pale sky. Each breath fogged in the icy air as Trill's party trekked deeper into the treacherous terrain. Snow crunched underfoot, but the stillness was unnerving, as though the mountains themselves were holding their breath, watching.
Trill walked at the front of the group, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the path ahead. Behind him, Ares adjusted the straps of his spear and drew closer. Bren and Lyra followed, with Vas taking up the rear on his dire ram, his noble cloak pulled tightly against the biting wind.
The wind howled through the narrow pass, carrying whispers that seemed to come from nowhere. It was a sound that made the hair on the back of one's neck stand, a voice older than time itself.
---
Ares broke the silence, his voice steady yet curious. "Trill, I've been wondering… What is your connection to the Sherpa? Why do you seem to know their ways so well?"
Trill glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "The Sherpa were once a people of the forest," he began. "They spoke to the trees, just as I do now. Their bond with the land was deep, but they were taken, enslaved, and corrupted."
Ares nodded, but his gaze didn't waver. "You speak as though you've known them personally."
Trill's steps slowed, and his voice grew softer. "Perhaps I have. Or perhaps their echoes linger in the forest, in the whispers of the roots and the cries of the leaves."
The cryptic answer made Ares frown, but he didn't press further. Trill had a way of speaking in riddles, revealing just enough to intrigue but never to satisfy.
---
The party continued in silence until Vas, ever the noble, decided to break the tension. He trotted closer to Lyra, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold—or perhaps something else.
"You know," Vas began, adjusting his riding gloves, "for someone who claims to be a warrior, you move with an unusual amount of grace."
Lyra raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Careful, Vas. Flattery won't get you anywhere."
"I wasn't trying to flatter you," he said quickly, clearly flustered. "I was just… making an observation."
Lyra tilted her head, her golden eyes gleaming with mischief. "An observation, huh? Does this observation come with an awkward attempt to impress me?"
Vas straightened in his saddle, his face turning a deeper shade of red. "I—uh—no! I'm just being polite!"
Lyra chuckled, her tail flicking behind her. "Relax, Vas. You're too easy to tease."
Bren glanced back at the exchange, shaking her head. "Lyra, don't torment him too much. He's our employer, remember?"
Lyra winked at Bren. "I'm just keeping him on his toes. Besides, it's harmless fun."
Vas muttered something under his breath, choosing to focus on the trail ahead rather than engage further.
---
The path narrowed, and the air grew warmer despite the snow underfoot. Steam hissed from cracks in the ground, the volcanic heat rising to meet the icy world above. Bren paused, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something beyond the wind.
"Do you hear that?" she asked.
The group stopped, their breaths quieting as they strained to listen. At first, it was just a faint hum, a low vibration that seemed to emanate from the ground itself. Then, like a distant murmur, a voice emerged—a deep, resonant tone that carried the weight of ancient knowledge.
Trill stepped closer to Bren. "What do you hear?"
Bren closed her eyes, focusing. "It's... the volcano. It's alive, and it's speaking. I can't understand the words, but it's calling to me, guiding me."
Ares exchanged a wary glance with Trill. "Is this some kind of magic?"
"It's something older than magic," Trill said quietly. "The mountains remember, just as the forest does. They're trying to tell us something."
Bren opened her eyes, a strange light in them. "There's a grove, hidden within the heart of the volcano. I don't know how I know this, but it's important. We need to find it."
Lyra frowned, her hand resting on her dagger. "A grove inside a volcano? That doesn't sound... safe."
"It may not be safe," Trill said, "but it could hold answers."
---
They pressed on, the whispers of the mountain growing louder with each step. Trill's connection to the land felt strained here, as though the volcanic energy interfered with the forest spirits. Yet he remained calm, his focus unwavering.
Hours passed, and the sun began to dip behind the peaks, casting long shadows across the pass. As they set up camp for the night, the unease among the group was palpable.
Bren sat near the fire, her sword resting across her lap as she sharpened its edge. Lyra tended to the dire rams, her movements efficient but tense. Ares stood at the edge of the camp, his spear planted firmly in the ground as he kept watch.
Vas, trying to lighten the mood, produced a flask of wine from his saddlebag. "A toast to survival," he said, pouring a small amount into a tin cup and offering it to Bren.
She accepted it with a nod. "To survival," she echoed, taking a sip before passing it to Lyra.
As the wine made its rounds, Trill sat apart from the group, his eyes closed as he meditated. The whispers of the mountain pressed against his mind, faint but persistent.
"Trill," Bren called, breaking his trance.
He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze.
"What do you think we'll find in that grove?" she asked.
"Secrets," he replied. "Maybe even truths we're not ready to face."
Bren frowned but didn't press further. She had learned that Trill's answers often raised more questions.
---
Later that night, as the camp settled into an uneasy sleep, Trill remained awake, his senses attuned to the environment. The mountains seemed to pulse with energy, a heartbeat that resonated through the stone and snow.
The whispers returned, clearer this time. They spoke of danger, of hidden eyes watching from the shadows. Trill's hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he scanned the darkness.
He wasn't the only one who noticed. Ares stepped up beside him, his spear glinting in the moonlight. "Something's out there," he said quietly.
Trill nodded. "The hills have eyes, and they're not friendly."
Ares gripped his spear tighter. "Do we wake the others?"
"Not yet," Trill said. "Let's see if they come to us first."
---
The night stretched on, tense and silent. The shadows seemed to move, shapes flickering at the edges of their vision. But no attack came.
As dawn broke, the group packed up and continued their journey, the unease lingering like a fog over their minds.
Bren walked beside Trill, her voice low. "That grove... Do you think it has something to do with the Sherpa?"
Trill glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. "The mountains remember. If the Sherpa were here, the answers might be waiting for us."
Bren nodded, her grip tightening on her sword. "Then we'll find them, no matter what."
As they moved deeper into the volcanic range, the mountains seemed to whisper louder, their secrets drawing the party closer to a truth they couldn't yet fathom.