Chapter 5: The Call of the Mountains

Chapter 5: The Call of the Mountains

The road beyond Surapur was a thing few dared to take. Most who left the city only did so in groups, for the wildlands beyond were untamed, ruled by things unseen and unheard of in the city. Traders spoke of bandits that prowled the outskirts, waiting for those foolish enough to travel alone. Older villagers whispered of worse things—beasts that should have died long ago, voices that called from the trees in the dark of night, spirits that still walked among men but had long since forgotten they were once human.

Arin did not fear these things, but neither did he dismiss them. The world was vast, and it had been long since the gods had watched over it. Without their presence, there was no telling what had begun to stir in the corners of the land that had once been kept in balance. The forests beyond the city stretched for miles before giving way to the rocky slopes of the mountains, where the trees became fewer and the air grew thinner. This was the path he had chosen, the only one left to him now that Surapur was behind him.

His stomach still ached from hunger, though it was a dull, familiar thing. He had learned long ago that hunger was not something that could be conquered, only endured. It whispered to him like an old friend, reminding him of its presence but never fully overcoming his will. He had gone without food for days before and had survived, but the mountains would be another challenge entirely. There would be fewer places to scavenge, fewer opportunities to steal scraps or barter for a meal. He would need to find another way.

The first night fell quickly, the shadows stretching long beneath the trees before swallowing the land whole. Arin kept moving. He did not trust the forest enough to sleep yet, not when he was still too close to the city. He walked with careful steps, his ears straining for any sound beyond the rustling of the wind through the leaves. He had never been deep into the wilderness before, only skirting its edges when he needed to escape the watchful eyes of Surapur's guards. Now, it was all that lay ahead of him.

He had no fire to keep the cold at bay, no weapons to defend himself if something emerged from the darkness. His only protection was the silence he carried with him, the stillness that had kept him alive for as long as he could remember. He did not move like a city dweller. He did not break twigs beneath his feet, did not let his breath come too loud. He was careful. But the forest was careful too.

There were things watching him. He could feel it. The weight of unseen eyes pressed against his back, though he could not tell if it was man or beast that stalked him. He did not stop walking. Stopping meant becoming prey, and he had spent too much of his life avoiding that role. He had been hunted before—not by animals, but by men. And men were the worst kind of predators.

A branch snapped somewhere to his left. He did not turn toward the sound. That was how the foolish died. Instead, he adjusted his steps, moving at an angle, keeping his path steady but never walking in a straight line. The darkness was deep here, but his eyes had adjusted to it. The moon, half-hidden behind the clouds, cast enough light for him to see the rough outline of the trees ahead. If he could reach higher ground, he would have a better chance of seeing what followed him.

The slope was steep, but his body was light, his limbs used to climbing where others hesitated. He reached for the lower branches of a thick tree, pulling himself up without pause. The bark was rough beneath his fingers, but he did not loosen his grip. Higher. He needed to see.

From his perch, he scanned the forest below. It was quiet, too quiet. Whatever had been following him had stopped. But that did not mean it was gone. He remained still, his breath controlled, his muscles tense. Minutes passed. The wind moved through the leaves, and for a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it.

Then, the shadows shifted.

Not a beast. A figure. Human-shaped, but wrong. Too still. Too silent.

It stood between the trees, motionless, as if waiting. As if watching.

Arin did not move. He had seen men hide in the shadows before, had seen thieves and killers wait in the dark for their moment to strike. This was different. There was something unnatural about the way it stood, the way it did not shift its weight or adjust its stance. The wind moved, but the figure did not.

Then, without sound, it turned and walked away.

Not toward him. Not toward Surapur.

Deeper into the forest.

Arin exhaled slowly, his fingers still gripping the tree's bark. He had never believed in the old stories of ghosts and spirits. Not truly. But the world was changing. The gods had turned away, and in their absence, other things had begun to wake.

He waited until he was sure the figure was gone before descending. His feet touched the earth with barely a sound. He did not look back. Some things were better left unseen.

The second night in the forest was colder. The trees were thinning, the land rising into rocky outcroppings and narrow paths that led toward the mountains. He had no map, but he did not need one. The rishi would not be in the lowlands. He would be where men did not tread, where the silence was complete, where the sky met the peaks and only the wind could reach him.

Arin's legs ached, but he did not slow his pace. He could feel something shifting around him, as if the very air was different here. It was not just colder—it was heavier, older. As if the land itself had memory.

By the time dawn came, he had reached the first of the mountain trails. The trees were sparse here, giving way to jagged stone and cliffs that stretched endlessly into the sky. He paused at the edge of the path, looking up at the towering peaks above.

Somewhere beyond them, Rishi Agnivarna waited.

Arin tightened his grip on the thin fabric of his tunic, taking a steadying breath.

And then, without hesitation, he climbed.

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End of Chapter 5