THE FADING FLAMES

The night was still. A heavy silence hung in the air like a lingering ghost, broken only by the slow, labored breathing of Manav. The dim glow of his office lamp cast long shadows across the mahogany desk, where a glass of untouched whiskey sat beside a stack of old, yellowed papers. The city outside was alive, bustling with neon lights and the restless hum of engines, yet inside these walls, time stood still. 

Manav leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His once-black hair, now streaked with silver, fell in messy strands over his forehead. He was still as sharp as ever, still feared, still respected. But even gods grew weary. 

His eyes flickered over to a framed photograph on his desk. Two people stood there—himself and Priya—though the versions of them frozen in time were much younger. He remembered the day it was taken. It felt like a different life altogether. 

Then, as if something cracked inside him, the memories came rushing back. 

---

450 years ago. 

It had been a long time since he had felt the weight of age bearing down on him. Back then, in the final days of his mortal life, every movement was a struggle. Every breath felt like borrowed time. He had been in his late eighties, but the world had not been kind to his body. 

Neither had it been to Priya. 

She sat across from him, in the dim candlelit study of their crumbling estate, her fingers idly tracing the rim of a cracked porcelain teacup. Though she had once been a force of nature, a woman whose very presence commanded attention, time had taken its toll on her. Her once-dark hair had turned completely white, her skin wrinkled and fragile, her back slightly hunched from years of burden. But her eyes—her eyes were still the same. 

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like, Manav?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. 

He didn't need to ask what she meant. He already knew. 

"To not rot away like this?" she continued, her voice softer now. "To never wake up feeling weaker than the day before? To live without fear of the clock ticking against us?" 

Manav exhaled, rubbing his temples. They had spoken of this before, countless times. But the answer had always been the same: death was inevitable. At least, that's what they had believed. 

Until now. 

"There's something I've heard," he said, finally looking at her. 

Priya's gaze sharpened. 

"A place," he continued. "A mountain far to the north. They say that those who reach its peak are granted eternity." 

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't interrupt. He could see the wheels turning in her head, the same hunger that burned inside him reflected in her tired eyes. 

"I've spoken to men who claim it exists," Manav went on. "A cursed peak. A forbidden place. Many have tried to climb it, but none have returned." 

Priya let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Sounds like a bedtime story meant to scare children." 

"Maybe," he admitted. "But if there is even the slightest chance—" 

She leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. "Then we take it." 

No hesitation. No doubt. That was Priya. 

Manav studied her for a long moment. "You understand what this means, don't you? If we leave, we may never return. The world will think us dead." 

A small smile played on her lips. "We're dying anyway." 

That was the truth of it. Their bodies were failing. Their time was running out. They had already buried everyone they had ever cared about. The world they had known was fading. What was left for them here, except to sit and wait for death? 

No. That would not be their fate. 

Priya stood, moving slowly but deliberately, the firelight flickering against her withered face. "When do we leave?" 

Manav exhaled, his fingers tightening into fists. "Tomorrow. Before dawn." 

They would leave everything behind. Their home, their wealth, their past. 

But in return… they would claim the future. 

---

The next morning, they packed what little they could carry—clothing, weapons, rations. The journey ahead was unknown, but they had prepared for uncertainty their entire lives. 

Priya strapped a knife to her belt, her movements slow but precise. "Do you really think we'll find it?" she asked. 

Manav pulled on a heavy cloak. "We'll either find it… or die trying." 

And with that, the two of them stepped into the cold morning mist, leaving behind their old lives, their old selves. 

The journey had begun.