The Road to The Mountain

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They rose with the first light, their silhouettes outlined against the ash-colored horizon. The memory of Seri's capture still burned behind their eyes—an ache none dared speak aloud, though it was etched into every clenched fist and narrowed gaze.

Asteria stood at the front, shoulders squared. He had barely slept, but fire simmered just beneath his skin, held back by sheer will.

"Four days to the Queen's palace," Cain said, fastening the final strap on his belt. "If he's taken her anywhere, it's there. The tower, most likely—not the dungeons. Too visible, too proud."

Mira adjusted the new blade at her side, its edge glinting with the light of the rising sun. "Then we go through anything that stands between us and those walls."

They departed Haldenreach with their new weapons secured—twin curved daggers for Mira, a massive war hammer for Tarn, a heavier set of throwing knives for Cain, and a set of fire-scribed gloves for Asteria. Valron carried a reinforced spear and an axe, his eyes unreadable.

The journey stretched through woods and ruins, across narrow ridges and dusty trails. They moved swiftly, driven by urgency. At night, they rotated watch shifts, sleeping in turns under the stars.

The plains gave way to wooded ridges and winding creeks. They made camp in dense thickets. Mira and Asteria shared quiet glances by the fire, but said little.

At one point, Mira passed him a drink. "You've changed."

Asteria blinked. "How?"

"You're quieter. But louder inside."

He didn't respond. But he held her gaze a little longer.

On the second day, they crossed paths with a Queen's patrol—five soldiers in black and crimson armor, mounted and alert.

"Down!" Cain hissed. But it was too late. One of the riders had seen them.

The skirmish was short and brutal.

Tarn charged head-on, taking two down before they could react. Mira flanked the right, slicing water-sharpened steel across their ranks. Cain's knives flew like guided bolts—piercing weak points in armor.

Asteria ignited a wall of fire behind the last two, cutting off escape. Valron disarmed them with a flurry of brutal strikes.

When the smoke cleared, five bodies lay crumpled.

Cain examined their insignia. "Elite scouts. If they don't report in, more might come."

"Then we keep moving," Asteria said. "We're not stopping."

On the third day, the trees gave way to cracked stone paths and ancient roads that once led to the royal city. Broken statues of former monarchs lined the cliffs—worn faces swallowed by vines.

They spoke little, conserving strength. Mira bandaged a cut on Valron's arm after a scuffle with a rogue beast. Tarn carried their packs without complaint, his shoulders stiff from the weight.

They passed old watchtowers now long abandoned, the banners torn and rotted. Signs of the Queen's growing paranoia lingered—collapsed bridges, burned villages, warning glyphs scorched into the stone.

By the fourth day, the terrain grew steeper. Fog hung low in the valleys, and above them, like a ghost fortress etched into the sky, stood the mountain and the castle.

They crested the final ridge just before dusk.

Before them, the royal city lay quiet, nestled against the jagged base of the mountain. The palace itself loomed above all—a massive sprawl of towers, bridges, and spires carved directly into the cliffside.

The group stood silent, each lost in thought.

"That's it," Mira said, her voice barely a whisper.

Cain nodded. "We make camp here. Nightfall will be our veil."

They set up beneath the cover of pine and boulder, the air colder now. They didn't speak of the plan yet—just watched the lights flicker far below, and the way the tallest tower reached toward the clouds like a blade.

---

They made camp behind the slope of the ridge, hidden by trees and distance. As night fell, the fire was low, voices quieter.

Then came the plan.

"We'll split," Cain said, laying out stones in a rough map of the palace grounds. "Two teams. Valron and Mira will take the river path. There's a side passage that leads to the lower dungeons—hidden, but we used it once in a raid. You'll be our inside distraction."

Mira gave a tight nod. "Assuming we don't drown first."

"You won't," Valron said, forcing a crooked grin. "If you do, I'll drown first. That way you'll land on me."

She rolled her eyes. "That's comforting."

Cain turned to Asteria. "You and I take the cliff. We'll use earth shaping to carve a stair path. If Seri's not in the dungeons, then she's in the tower. That's where we aim."

Tarn folded his arms. "And I stay here?"

"You'll be at the base," Cain said. "If they break through or someone escapes, you're our anchor. You'll catch them."

Tarn grunted. "Make sure I've got something to catch."

The fire popped. Smoke drifted into the cold air. The mood turned heavy.

Asteria stood slowly. His voice was steady but low. "The Queen took her because she thinks she's won. Because she wants to break her."

He looked around at each of them.

"She thinks we're still who we were before."

Mira met his eyes, then nodded once. "Then let's show her we're not."

Asteria tightened the red scarf at his waist. "We move at moonrise. We get in. We get Seri out. No matter what."

Valron tapped his sword against the rock map. "And if we find Sevrik?"

Asteria's hands curled into fists. Fire flared, low and deadly. "Then we make sure he never takes anyone again."

No one had anything more to say.

They each drifted off to prepare—some sharpening blades, others closing their eyes for one last hour of peace.

Tomorrow, the mountain would burn or fall.

---

Soft light spilled through the tall windows of the royal chamber. The velvet curtains swayed with the morning breeze, brushing against the carved stone walls like whispers from a forgotten time.

Seri stirred.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly—at first disoriented, then instantly sharp. She knew this ceiling. That gilded trim. That chandelier.

Her heart thudded.

The castle.

She sat up—only to feel the pull.

Her wrists.

Fine golden cuffs gleamed in the light, binding her to the frame of her ornate bed. The sheets were silk. The room smelled of lilac and old perfume. But the bonds were real. Cold. Unforgiving.

"No," she breathed, struggling. "No—no—"

The doors opened with a soft creak, too gentle for what followed.

Footsteps.

Regal. Familiar.

The Queen entered, dressed in flowing black and silver, her hair piled in a crown-like knot atop her head. Her expression was soft, almost maternal. Almost.

"My child," she said, approaching with deliberate grace.

Seri's jaw clenched. "Don't."

But the Queen sat at the edge of the bed as if they were just family. As if there hadn't been a war. As if she hadn't ordered her capture.

She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Seri's face.

"I missed you," the Queen murmured, placing a hand gently on her forehead. "You must have been so scared out there. But it's alright now. You're safe. You're home."

Seri jerked her head away. "This isn't home. You don't get to pretend."

"You've always been dramatic." The Queen stood, looking around the room with a wistful sigh. "We kept it exactly as you left it. Your favorite mirror. Your books. The balcony where you used to sneak out."

Her voice dropped, colder now. "Why run? There was no need for all this."

Seri's voice burned with defiance. "Because I wanted to live. Not be your pawn. Not marry your allies. Not silence my own people."

The Queen smiled. Calm. Serene. Terrifying.

"You still don't understand. You were never meant to run, dear. You were meant to rule—with me. Now, all this rebellion nonsense is over. You're not going anywhere again."

Seri pulled at the cuffs, fire in her eyes. "They're coming for me."

The Queen tilted her head. "Your friends?"

Seri stared directly at her. "They're stronger now. They'll tear down your gates. They'll take me back—and you down with me."

The Queen chuckled, stepping toward the window.

"Oh, my precious girl," she said, looking out over the castle gardens. "That's what I'm counting on."

She turned, eyes glinting.

"Let them come."

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