The Teeth of the Mountain

"Some are born to rule. They don't need reason—only witnesses."

The sky was like a slab of invisible stone above the tents, draped in hand-stitched furs and fabric sewn with pain. Outside, the wind howled like a starving wolf. Inside, three silhouettes waited. Men. Nobles. Well-fed predators.

They looked too alike. Twins, yes—but twisted by the divine inbreeding of their lineage. One was massive, nearly spherical, with fat cascading down his neck like rings on a tree. The other, slim and hideously beautiful, had alabaster skin and a smile that seemed sculpted from melted wax. The third—silent, a scar slashing across his chin—rarely spoke, and when he did, it was to seal spells.

"Gelor," muttered the fat one, patting his own belly, "we've got nothing to give the mountain."

The handsome one—Gelor, then—lifted his eyes from the unfolded map. The parchment was stained with blood, ink, and flesh. An ancient relic, clearly stolen.

"The offerings," he said, "can be improvised. As long as it breathes."

The third brother, Mauve—the one with the scar—nodded.

"The beast is waiting," growled the fat one. "We have to pass. If we go east, we avoid the Rift. But if we give it nothing… it'll devour us, like the others."

Gelor narrowed his eyes.

"What if we gave it the blind one?" he said. "Him… and his dog."

Silence.

The fat one—called Dorge by his companions—raised his eyebrows, incredulous. Then his shapeless face crinkled into a smile. A lip slick with drool.

"Not bad. The dog's tough. The blind one's… special. That'll do."

But Gelor clenched his fists. A glint lit up in his eyes—twisted, possessive.

"No. Not yet. I want to keep him a little longer. I want to break him."

He spoke the way someone talks about a precious toy. An ivory vase they want to scratch slowly, watching it crack under the sun.

"You want what?" said Mauve in a flat voice.

"I want to make him beg. Regret being born. Understand his place. His place in the genetic hierarchy."

No one replied. There was nothing to say. Gelor stood, wiped the corner of his lips with a black handkerchief, and stepped out of the tent.

The ground outside was frozen earth and ancient tears. In the distance, chains clinked, a child coughed, and a woman prayed to no god.

In a cage of wood warped by moisture, Rays sat. He wasn't asleep. He wasn't really alive either. He breathed, slowly. Mouth dry. Stomach howling. Body aflame.

He heard the footsteps. Gelor approached. His perfume smelled of jasmine, flesh, and perversion.

"Here," said Gelor. "Eat."

He threw something to the ground. A piece of moldy bread. A half-rotten chicken leg. A bone.

Rays didn't move. His gaze, emptied of all color, stared into the eternal blackness before him. He didn't even tremble. Far off in a corner of the cage, Rex panted softly.

"Still want to play the proud one?" hissed Gelor. "Tsk..."

He stepped into the cage. Grabbed Rays by the hair. Forced his mouth open. Shoved the bread down his throat.

Rays struggled, weakly. But his arms, his legs—his entire being—was nothing but pain.

"You think you're a hero?" Gelor snarled. "You're nothing. Just a blind guy with a stuffed dog. Don't want to eat? I'll feed you myself. And then we'll see if you still think you deserve to walk upright."

Rex growled. But dared not move.

"Gelor!" shouted a voice from afar. "Enough! Come!"

The beautiful twin turned, annoyed.

"This isn't over," he spat. "You'll understand. Oh yes, you'll understand."

He left. The chains rattled.

Moments later, the three nobles were gathered around the map again.

"Around here," said Dorge, pointing at a mountainous bend. "Leave… half. We need enough to feed the Beast. If it's full, it'll sleep again. And we'll pass."

"We tie them up," said Mauve. "They won't struggle."

"Who do we sacrifice?" asked Dorge.

"The sick. The injured. The old. And the ones who talk too much."

No one objected.

They sealed the plan. Like signing a check. With an elegant, clean, emotionless gesture.

Outside, the wind intensified.

And in the cage, Rays still didn't move.

Until a figure approached. Thin. Young. A boy.

He reached out a hand. Rays didn't see it, of course.

"My name's Fist," said the boy.

Then, withdrawing his hand, awkwardly:

"Ah. Sorry. I forgot you're blind. It's… a habit."

Rays replied, voice nearly broken but calm:

"It's nothing."

"Where… where are you from?"

"I don't know. They brought me here before I could understand. I remember the cold. The monsters. The river. I would've bled out if they hadn't picked me up. They patched me up… to fetch a better price."

"The nobles, huh?"

"Yes."

Fist sat down beside the cage.

"Me, it was my parents. They sold me. Said I was useless. The money went to pay for my brother's school. He's the smart one."

Silence.

"What a miserable life," whispered Rays.

"It's life. Nothing we can do. We're born, we suffer, we die. And in between, we obey."

"I see what you mean. We don't choose. It's forced on us."

They sat like that. Two shadows in the shadows. Two erased existences.

And meanwhile, the chains jingled in the darkness, the wind tore at the tents, and the nobles, high above, rubbed their hands.

Because to cross the mountain, they had found their offering.

And no prayers rose that night.