text: [Themes: grimdark fantasy, fantasy, grimdark]
  
  You may have been too late to save the rogue, but at least you can see to his body. You weren't close. He simply was a set of skills needed for the task. Still, weeks of traveling with one another, it makes you see them in a different light. Experience is the tightest bond there is. He doesn't deserve to die like this. Pulling your dagger, you start to cut the rope holding Richter to the post. As the first few strands are cut, Richter suddenly gurgles, coming awake from a sleep you thought eternal. A few drops land on your overcoat.
  
  "...came back for me, huh?" Richter's voice is but a haggard whisper.
  
  You reply, keeping a similar volume as not to overwhelm the man. "Someone's after us. All of us. They seek—"
  
  "—I know," Richter cuts you off. "A book. Tell me, do you know which one?"
  
  You shake your head.
  
  "Heh... (cough)" You finish cutting the rope and slowly guide Richter's body down, placing his back against the post. He continues. "It contains great power. The selling price is worth more than a few small kingdoms. But that's not what interests you, is it? No, you never pursued the finer things in life. Funny, now I understand. Tell me, have you ever been in love?"
  
  A blanket spread out on the grass, placed underneath strong pine. Its leaves rustle with the wind, creating phantom spectators watching the two of you. The wind, a cool breeze. The moon, your only light. Her body, warm comfort. Only her outline is visible, a sensual silhouette in the night. Each familiar touch brings images, memories of time spent in the light. It's the way it should be. Simple. Uncomplicated. Just the two of you. Tomorrow can wait. Tonight it's just the two of you.
  
  You shake your head to clear the memory. Richter takes that as your answer. "Shame. Cynicism kept me from finding it earlier. I wish I had more time with her. (Cough). Here at the end, she's all I can think of. That's why I'm staying here, the place where she works."
  
  A sinking feeling begins in your chest. Bringing his focus back, you ask, "And what do you know of the book?"
  
  Richter's grin appears, bright teeth poking through dried blood. Even now, his apparent deception is something he's proud of. "More than most. Its location, for one. The promises it keeps, for two. It's of dark magic, an ancient curse if you believe that sort of thing. The Spirit of Truth held a certain...missing puzzle piece."
  
  "Which is?"
  
  Richter breaks into another fit of coughing, gurgling. His body convulses, meaning to empty his stomach's contents. Hacking, Richter shoves two fingers down his throat, triggering his gag reflex. In a waterfall of brown mess, taking away your appetite for stew, vomit pours down the front of Richter's torso along with a small leather bag, not unlike the one used to transport small jewelry. He motions for you to pick it up.
  
  "That will take you to the book."
  
  "Why are you telling me?" you ask.
  
  "Isn't it obvious? You could have skipped town, but instead (cough), you came to rescue me. Take it. Find the book. And promise me..."
  
  You have a feeling what his next words will be.
  
  "...you'll take care of Katia."
  
  You remain silent as breath escapes Richter for the final time. Your hand reaches for the leather bag, wiping it down with the dead man's cloak. So, Richter is the cause. Out of the four, he was the most likely to snatch an item of worth. Many questions fill your head. The book's origin, those who seek it, Richter's involvement, Katia, the possibility of seeking Lord Tiras for help. Answers are scarce. Weigh the options, then commit. Whether you choose right or wrong, the journey begins by taking a step forward.
  
  > examine the pouch
  Whatever your decision turns out to be, you'll need to know what the pouch holds. Again, wiping it off, you pull the strings at the top and pour its contents onto the floor. It's a small mechanical cube, like the wooden block of a child, but with spinning gears and a metallic body. Interesting. As you examine it closer, your finger hits an unseen button. The inner section of the cube grinds in motion. In reaction, you place it on the ground in front of you, kneeling beside it, just in case something sharp, or arcane, shoots out. Instead, something else reveals itself.
  
  "Now, that's interesting," you comment to yourself. "Very interesting."
  
  A three-dimensional map appears, illuminated by a strange device within the cube. It's point of view is that of a soaring hawk, looking down on the world from far above. Trees are barely visible, little green pins scattered on miniature mountains. The map revolves around a single location, a shining bright light instantly drawing your eyes to it: a fortress deep in the mountains, nested comfortably between two peaks, ones that you are familiar with.
  
  Devil's Altar, a pair of volcanoes in the Sheol Mountains. Its ridges are black, unlike the snowy mountains that surround. Scholars say it's due to the internal temperature. Snow is unable to rest on top without melting. Religious figures say it's the entryway to hell, unsurprisingly. Whatever the case may be, those who approach the twin volcanoes don't return.
  
  "Is that..." a woman's voice softly speaks. You turn to find Katia peering her head into the room, her body hidden by the ladder compartment. "...Richter?"
  
  You jump to your feet, placing yourself between Richter's body and Katia's line of sight, conveniently hiding the map as well. "You should not be here. Forget anything you think you may have saw and climb back down."
  
  "Did you kill him?" Katia asks, bluntly. The girl is straightforward if nothing else. It catches you off-guard.
  
  "What? No. We traveled together. Seems he discovered something that caught the attention of some very dangerous people."
  
  "If they're after him..." The girl is smarter than she looks. "Then they're after you too?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "The chances are high they're after me too, then."
  
  Smart, indeed. You hadn't thought about your associations. There's no doubt if the cloaks are interrogating the four of you, that will extend to family, friends, and lovers. Words shared between friends are dangerous when brought to light.
  
  "The chances are high, yes," you answer. "Leave town. Keep your distance from this place, at least until I handle things."
  
  "You mean until you take it for yourself."
  
  Does she know about the book? Everyone seems to know about it. She knows more than she's letting on. Press, search for answers. You do just that. "What did Richter share with you? I mean only to put an end to those who pursue us."
  
  Katia eyes you for a moment, searching for a hint of dishonesty. Finally, she says, "Richter said he found a score above the rest, a wealth of treasure to leave this place behind and start a new life with. When he returned we had a...falling out and I wanted to get back at him by...you know..."
  
  So you are—were—just a pawn in a game of chess between lovers. And you thought events were because of your charisma? Not exactly. Women don't just throw themselves at us without an ulterior motive. There's always an ulterior motive. Everyone has an agenda. Even us.
  
  You think it best to be honest with the woman. She needs to know the severity of the situation. "Listen, the 'treasure' is not what you think it is. It's a tome. An artifact. Sure, it could probably be sold for top coin, but some things shouldn't reach the surface of men."
  
  "Why? What's so dangerous about it?"
  
  "It's of dark magic," you answer, recalling the little information Richter shared with his dying breath. "Ancient curses, best kept buried."
  
  "And you're planning to find it for yourself? Then what? Destroy it?"
  
  You're not exactly sure. You alone hold the location of an artifact someone desperately wants. They'll keep sending men after you. No, you need to address the problem at the source. Find the artifact. Learn of its power. And perhaps use it to stop whoever's after you. Instead of a solid plan, you have fragments of ideas. It'll be a long journey. At least you'll have time to think. The first step is clear, however. Find the book.
  
  "Fine," Katia breaks you from your thoughts. "Don't tell me. But at least let me come with you, for the sake of closure."
  
  "...for the sake of closure." The words pour from your mouth as if a dream. Although they are spoken from your lips, somehow they don't seem quite yours.
  
  "I've got to move on," she whispers back. "There's a whole world to discover. I can't waste my life staying in one place."
  
  It's dark now. No longer does the setting sun linger with its orange glow. Its light, its warmth is replaced with cool darkness, a steady transition, unnoticeable until it's completely changed. You lay at the usual spot. Her blanket spread flat on the bluffs, overlooking the sea, hidden from the beach with small plants and trees. Private. Secluded. Yours.
  
  "This is a waste then?" you whisper, instantly regretting the loaded question.
  
  "I...I don't know. Maybe."
  
  "What you seek to avoid being here. It will follow you to the next destination."
  
  "Mm. Perhaps. But I have to try. I don't want to look back and wonder what could have been."
  
  Wishful thinking. A result of her immaturity. Life isn't some grand adventure. No, it's not. It's a daily struggle to stay afloat. Nothing with worth is built without sacrifice. It takes time. It takes sacrifice. Let her leave. We don't need her.
  
  "This is it then," you state, the words again appear as someone else's.
  
  Warm hands comfortingly embrace yours. You feel the familiar softness of her skin, tracing her hand, finding a few rough calluses in contrast to the palm in which they grow. They're smaller than before. Now that her wounds are healed, they'll likely return back to their previous size. Warm hands. Then cool metal. She places a small object in your open palm. A ring. The very one you placed on her finger from bended knee.
  
  She doesn't respond to your statement. Her action is answer enough. Tender lips meet your cheek. Better had she left you with nothing at all, rather than a fragment of once was. And just like that, as if the sun disappearing under the horizon, its warmth, its glow disappearing, she leaves, darkness, settling in.
  
  No confrontation. No hate. No closure. Just, emptiness.
  
  You rise to a seat, crossing your legs, resting your elbows on your knees, staring into the darkness. The movement causes you to bump into an object still laying on the blanket. Vodka. A little medication never hurt. Whatever it takes. Calm the senses. Suppress the thoughts. Numb them. Whatever it takes.
  
  Morning light rudely greets your headache. An empty bottle. A new day. The chance to move on. Doing your best to ignore the throbbing at your temple, you sit up and pack your things, first taking a few gulps from your waterskin. It's not cold. It tastes slightly of the leather pouch. But still, it refreshes, in this moment tasting like water from a fresh mountain spring. Perspective. Need. Desire. Nothing is absolute. You pack your things, leaving the blanket behind. Her blanket. Something you no longer have the need for.
  
  You pick up your bow. The weight feels powerful in your hand. Harnessed energy at your disposal. Its usefulness is wasted sitting around. It serves a specific purpose. Deadly, pointed in the proper direction. Purpose. Direction. You'll take those over adventure any day. A new day. The chance to move on. Today you hunt.
  
  "...for the sake of closure."
  
  You're brought back to reality. The memory that the statement triggered vanishes. It may be too late for you, but it's not for Katia.
  
  "You may come," you answer. "If you do exactly what I say. No questions asked."
  
  She doesn't look happy. The result of getting what she wants isn't a bright smile or cheerful grin. Rather, you get a solemn nod, a silent agreement to your authority.
  
  "It's no use returning back to your place. We'll purchase new equipment on the way out of town," you say. "I don't imagine you have any experience with combat?" Katia shakes her head. "No matter. We'll get you a simple crossbow. Just aim and shoot. Simple is right. The mountains will be cold. Better to pack warm. Horses will take us to the base of the range. From there, we'll need to hike, so can't have too much to carry."
  
  You realize you're rambling a bit, thinking out loud. Instead, you take a softer tone, likely a result of the memory that just came to mind.
  
  "It'll be easier once we leave the city. The open road, the ability to travel wherever you wish: some see it as true freedom. Somehow a change of scenery and viewing the land makes our problems feel smaller. Come now. We'll be off by midday."
  
  After purchasing supplies, mostly rations and warm clothing for Katia, you set off from Lord Tiras' city. Luckily, you didn't run into any trouble in the market from the cloaks. You procured a pair of dependable roans from a buck-toothed stablehand who kept twiddling a piece of straw in his mouth.
  
  The Sheol Mountain range is a few weeks in the distance, across the wind-swept Harken Plains, named after the city lord of a prominent city in the mountain range. However, your destination is far past his city, heading deep into the range rather than a passage through it.
  
  You travel mostly in silence. The two of you aren't glossy-eyed lovers, traveling for the sake of adventure and thrills. Each of you seek something. It just so happens that your path connects for now. Assuming the book and whoever's after you is handled, you'll likely go your separate ways. For you, that's nothing new. It usually happens after a job. Your traveling companions are a means to an end, a set of useful skills needed to accomplish a task. Your current situation may be a little different, but the end result will be the same.
  
  The plains are open. Small grass, mostly brown and dead, occupy the plains. There are no rolling hills filled with lush green, each hilltop bringing wonder to what lies on the opposite side. The ground is flat, dead. The constant wind causes you to pull your hood on a little deeper, both to stop the chill and because it threatens to be blown from your head.
  
  Your mind draws back to your memory. When she left. Is this the "adventure" she wanted? Ugly landscape. Chilling wind. No laughter. No companionship.No cheerful travelers. Just reality. Despite your best attempts to block the memory, it keeps coming back. You shake your head, hoping the physical response will garner some result. It helps, slightly. Suppress it. Focus on the task at hand. One step at a time. Press on. Only the task matters. This one may not be funded by a wealthy lord, but you still plan to navigate through it successfully. The coin provided with the assassination of Silvaras is more than enough to sustain you for a while, even with your current journey being self-funded.
  
  The sky is gray. Clouds cover the entire sky, giving off a monotone feel to the world. Gray above, dead and brown below. The plains feel exactly what their name would suggest. Several days you've been traveling through. It will take several more to reach the other side. Then you'll reach the Redwood Forest. Just through that will be the Sheol Mountains.
  
  The flatness provides more than an ample vantage to see if you're being followed. If the cloaks were after you, you suppose it makes sense for them to trail at a distance. If they could manage, then you would be leading them directly to what they want. That is, if they could stay unseen. You can see for miles, and no one's appeared. The snowfall will arrive soon as you continue north. Not many travelers are out.
  
  Checking again, you don't see any sign of others. "This is a good place to stop for the night," you say. Once there were trees here. A long, long time ago. You've stopped at the base of an old stump, which will provide as decent of a wind shield as you'll get for a small fire. You're not concerned with fire alerting others to your presence after checking the horizon. Plus, no one can safely travel during the night with the temperature drop.
  
  Katia dismounts and wordlessly throws her pack to the ground. You squat near the base of the trunk and begin starting a fire. The side facing you is darkened from flame already. Seems another has discovered this spot before you, unsurprisingly, as this is best natural shelter gets in the Harken Plains.
  
  Spark, flame, warmth.
  
  Soft glow from the fire springs into existence, giving some color to the previously drab environment. It falters for a movement, almost extinguished by a sudden gust of wind, but then resumes its constant dance, crackling underneath the tree stump.
  
  Times like these, the world doesn't feel like the miserable place it mostly appears to be. Perhaps that's because you're far from civilization. It's humbling, braving the elements, knowing it wouldn't take much for things to take a wrong turn. Perhaps there's more out there to discover, putting your own problems against the world. Somehow they don't seem as large.
  
  > drift to sleep
  Wake up. The sunlight's barely risen, but it's enough to see. Katia is still asleep several feet from where you are, wrapped up tight, only her hair visible at the tip of her bedroll. You sit up, taking note of the extinguished fire. The morning air is brisk. On the plus side, the wind's died down a bit. You plan to make good use of the break.
  
  The rest of the journey through the plains is uneventful. You keep an eye on the horizon, scanning for sight of followers. If there is anyone, they're miles away. Losing a tail will be much easier through the Redwood Forest rather than the open, level ground you've been traveling on for days.
  
  The first signs of snowfall are starting to appear. Light flakes dance in the air, not heavy enough to stick, dying your vision in a white fog. You come across a few pine trees, scattered into the plains, then more and more appear. Finally, reaching the outskirts of the Redwood, you enter, allowing its thick canopy to shield you from the lackluster snowfall.
  
  Your path should only take you a few days through the forest, briefly passing through a section. Luckily, you won't be heading too deep into the trees. You travel in silence for the first day. The second, you come across voices. Traveling on the main road, just wide enough for a cart, you haven't come across anyone just yet. Until now. Directing Katia, you sneak into the surrounding trees and listen. A few minutes later a traveling caravan appears.
  
  Not a caravan exactly, but a single cart, a single man at the reigns. Three others, armed, walk next to the cart. One in front, two behind. Instead of a normal cargo bed, the cart boasts a steel cage protecting its contents. A prison. Slavers. The trade is legal in some areas of the world—not here, however. Three bone-thin people sit inside of the cell, dressed in rags, shackled at the wrists. Overkill, if they're securely locked inside.
  
  "Should we do something?" Katia whispers.
  
  > Yes
  "Follow my lead," you whisper back. So we're freedom fighters now? No. White knights? No. What then? Rations are low. Simple as that.
  
  You wait until the cart is a few feet past your current location, nocking an arrow to prepare. Two can be taken down immediately, provided Katia can aim correctly. You've spent a bit of time teaching her on the way. She could hit your makeshift targets from this range fairly consistently. The guards provide a much bigger area to hit. You mentally prepare for the situation, should Katia misfire.
  
  Now's the time. The guards are close enough for an easy shot, while still far enough away to fire a second shot. You give the signal to Katia. Almost simultaneously, two projectiles fire from your position. Your arrow fires true. Katia's doesn't. It flies too far to the right, planting itself in the wooden frame of the cart, beneath where the steel cage is built on top. Taking a deep breath, you nock another arrow. Best to stay calm in a situation like this. Nervousness, frantic movement will only hinder your ability to connect arrow to bowstring. He's four feet away. Arrow nocked. Two feet. Draw. One. Arrow loose.
  
  The arrowhead tears through the second guard's throat in a red geyser, his momentum from the charge continuing far past your current location, like a matador taunting a bull. Two down, three to go. They're upon you before you can issue any commands to Katia, two on you, one heading straight for Katia.
  
  You abandon the bow and draw your sword and dagger. There's no way you can draw arrows quick enough at this distance. Fighting outnumbered, the key is to take the offensive. Take down one instantly, and the others will second-guess themselves. You do just that, sweeping low with your sword, prodding with your dagger. You catch the first man focusing on your dagger. Your sword finds an opening in his guard. His leather armor offers little against your forward thrust. Your blade pierces through his gut and out his back. You pull your sword out just in time to block your other opponent.
  
  Katia's struggling. You can tell she has no formal training, not that you expected her to. She does more running than actual fighting, taking care to avoid her pursuer's mace. With a greater sense of urgency, you turn your attention back to the enemy in front of you. His face is unshaven, though there's not much of a beard, speaking to his age, and his body looks almost as starved as the prisoners he's transporting. This is not who ends us. Wouldn't that be something? He doesn't deserve it. There'll be another. What's taking them so long?
  
  You parry the next strike with your dagger, holding the boy's weapon in place. Twisting, you throw all of your momentum into the swipe. One second the unshaven face stares back at you, the next, an empty hole of a neck takes its place. Katia! She's fallen on the ground, her opponent standing over her, mace raised in the air. There's no time to pick up your bow and fire. They're too far away to sprint over. Your dagger flies through the air, rotating exactly four times before planting in the man's spine. He collapses, unmoving, falling on top of Katia's prone body.
  
  After helping her to her feet, Katia apologizes, obviously down on herself. "Sorry, I missed. I don't know why. It was an easy shot to make."
  
  "Happens," you reply, not all too sure how to comfort her.
  
  Three pairs of eyes stare at you from within the slavers' cage. Three men, ragged and bone-thin.
  
  > free them
  True, your rations are low. You certainly didn't put your neck out on the line, after all you've been through, just to rescue three slaves. Make no mistake, the slavers possess something you want, and you'll take it. They did choose a dangerous trade. But somehow, not freeing the caged slaves would be...wasteful?
  
  As you pick through the fallen slavers' pockets, one of the slaves shouts at you. "So are you gonna let us out or what?"
  
  "I'm thinking about it," you absent-mindedly answer, pulling a small ring from one of the bodies, examining it, then tossing it to the ground. Worthless.
  
  "They caught us illegally. None of us have writs of ownership."
  
  "That's nice," you answer, digging through a second body. This one holds a small knife, which you think about taking. It's deadly sharp, but the steel itself looks frail, likely a result of over sharpening.
  
  "The key's over there. Next to the driver."
  
  Katia walks over to the driver's body, but you wave her off. "Not yet."
  
  "What the hell are you waiting for?" the slave shouts.
  
  You eye the cell. "I'm not done scavenging. And I'd rather not have to look over my shoulder while I do. Because the first thing you're going to do when I unlock the cell is sift through these bodies yourselves. You can take what I leave behind."
  
  The slave slinks to a seat within the cell. The others stay quiet for the time being. Katia approaches you, speaking with a low voice. "Do you really think they'd attack us after freeing them?"
  
  You glance back to the cell. They are bone-thin, yes, but they still outnumber you. Unlike the men you just killed, they'll be fighting with a suppressed ferocity, the chance to be free. Plus, you don't hold the ambush position any longer. "They might. I don't know. Who's to say they don't deserve being locked up? For all we know, they're violent criminals."
  
  "Then what's the point of attacking?" Katia asks.
  
  You pull a key from the driver's pocket and toss it aside for now. Still digging, you finally discover the item you're looking for. It's a small container meant for holding spices inside, and fresh at that. You carefully unscrew the lid, making sure not to spill its contents. "Mmm. This is why," you say, offering the container for Katia to smell.
  
  "Tea leaves?"
  
  "Not just any tea leaves. Baneweed. Brew a cup from this, and you'll stay awake for hours. Slavers always carry them. They get paid upon delivery, so the less they rest, the sooner payment arrives."
  
  "Please tell me we didn't just murder four men for tea leaves," Katia says.
  
  "We? No," you answer. "Besides, we're saving three, so it's about even at the end of things."
  
  "I don't get you," Katia comments.
  
  I don't get myself either. Pack up their rations. Time to move on. You toss a keyring into the prison cell on your way out. There are bigger things to worry about. The mountains are close. And so is the book. What will we do with it? Whatever we want.
  
  After fumbling with the lock for a few seconds, the cage door swings open. Three bone-thin slaves exit in a hurry as if waiting too long will forfeit their chance at escape. You make eye contact with the one who you had just spoken to. Suddenly, you're regretting the decision to free them.
  
  "You almost left us in there," he states.
  
  "Yeah? But I didn't, did I?" you retort.
  
  "Probably didn't for the sake of that lovely thing on your arm." Directing towards Katia, he adds on. "What are you doing with this bore? Why don't you join us, sweetheart. We have a camp not too far from here. Plenty of drink. Comfortable beds..."
  
  "Um. I'm good," Katia manages to answer. The sudden aggressiveness catches her off-guard.
  
  "That's enough," you say. "Now are we going to have a problem or will you be on your way?"
  
  The man doesn't answer at first. His eyes briefly draw on Katia, then your equipment, noticing the lack of goods left on the slavers' bodies. "That's a nice looking bow you got there."
  
  You see where this is going. For the second time, you wish you had just left them to die in the cage. Before the man can react, you pull an arrow from your quiver and nock it to your bowstring, drawing to full-length. "And my arrow? Do you admire that as well?"
  
  The former slave holds both hands up in defense, more of a surrender, really. "Ok, ok we'll be off then."
  
  You keep the arrow nocked until the three finish scavenging what they can from the slavers' bodies. There's not much, but they take their crude weapons and armor. All the rations, however, have been taken by you. As they disappear down the road, likely heading toward their camp, you voice your thought underneath your breath.
  
  "I should have left them to fucking rot."
  
  Katia overhears. "I'm starting to think the same. Despicable men, threatening the ones who saved them."
  
  "We've tarried enough. Onward?"
  
  "Onward," Katia replies.
  
  The little sunlight that manages to sneak through the canopy causes night to fall much earlier in the Redwood Forest. You're only able to travel a few more hours before darkness starts to settle in. Directing Katia, you find a small clearing far off the road. Any visitors that wander into your campsite will be hostile, much as it's been for the entire journey. Bandits, former slaves, the cloaks: it seems as if just about everyone is after you.
  
  Tonight you don't light a fire. The forest is much warmer than the Harken Plains. The wind chill is minimal at best as there is more than enough cover to hide behind. The clearing is only large enough for two bedrolls side-by-side, framed by trunks on either side. You do your best to clear out dried leaves and branches for comfort, placing them around the clearing a small distance away. It's an old trick you picked up. If an animal or person wanders close, they'll have to avoid snapping the branches and crunching the leaves. Not foolproof, but better than nothing.
  
  You briefly think about lighting up your pipe. The calming tobacco would feel nice after the skirmish earlier, but you decide against it. The smoke might attract unwanted attention. There will be plenty of opportunity once you hit the mountain range. Katia cozies underneath her bedroll. You do the same. There is much distance to travel tomorrow. As you drift off to sleep, your mind also drifts towards thoughts of the book. What it looks like, the power contained, the ancient—
  
  —a twig snaps. Dagger already in hand, you sit up, placing your other hand across Katia's mouth. It's dark, but your eyes have adjusted well enough to see her eyes widen. You motion her to stay quiet as you slowly rise from the bedroll. Unable to see clearly, you focus on your hearing. The trees remain quiet. Forest creatures chirp, scamper, and rustle their normal routine.
  
  Silence, silence, silence...a rush of footsteps.
  
  A blade whirls in the air. You don't see it, but you step back in instinct, tripping over Katia in the process. Thwunk! A man screams. This time, Katia's hand crossbow fires true. Unable to see details, you stab forward in the direction of the scream, quieting the man's voice forever. Afterward, you crouch low, ready to strike at other attackers. The forest resumes its normal chirping, scampering, and rustling. No other footsteps ring into the night.
  
  You whisper to Katia. "There could be others. Pack your things. There'll be no sleep this night."
  
  She whispers her agreement, and the two of you gather your equipment, preparing for a night of walking. Tea leaves. Rather than brewing a pot, you munch on the baneweed, offering some to Katia. It does the trick rather well, although you would much prefer to spend the time sleeping. One foot in front of the other. You press on, trying to ignore how you will feel in the morning. Losing a night of sleep is much worse after coming down from a baneweed high. However, that's a problem for another time. A problem for about four hours from now, to be exact.
  
  > Continue
  Making it through the rest of the Redwood Forest was quick. Not three days after spotting the slavers, you emerge into the Sheol Mountain range. The protective canopy that shielded you from snow and rain is now gone. Back in the exposed air, you're at the mercy of whatever the sky decides to drop on you. Today, it's light snow.
  
  Mountain peaks, as far as the eye can see, greet you with their snow-tipped caps, welcoming you into their embrace, clouds of mist hanging near most. Thankfully, the mountain trails haven't been covered by the white dust yet. It's a siren's temptation, however; conditions are harsh, wildlife sparse. Doom awaits. Still, you trudge on. The trail has turned into a rocky climb, making the horses more a liability than aid. You leave them tied to a fallen tree a small distance into Sheol. Their fate will be the same as yours.
  
  As you travel into the mountains, the air starts to thin making your journey more physically taxing. Having spent the past several years hunting, your endurance is at a level most never reach. But this is an entirely different element. Periodically, you check the cube, and the map within, to ensure you don't stray from the path. The last thing you need is to lose a day or two by heading off course. Katia, mostly quiet the entire journey, is even more silent, saving precious breath for the hike. Truthfully, you're glad as you'd rather save yours as well.
  
  The journey continues. With each day, your legs feel heavier and heavier, as if the very pack you carry is gaining weight. The incline turns steep, forcing Katia and you to climb on all fours during various sections. Your feet navigate upon loose rock, threatening to slide you down sheer mountainside. More than once, a quick recovery is needed, bits of rock you previously stood on sent tumbling down the mountain.
  
  Your legs feel as if battered by hammers; dull soreness is now their natural state. By the way Katia is trudging on, her body moving in one lethargic state. You can tell she feels the same, likely even worse. Breathing doesn't come easy. Each inhale brings a satisfying intake of fresh air, but it's never enough. The air is too thin. It's as if breathing underwater through a thin reed. You're using it up at a higher pace than it's coming in, or at least that's how it feels. Your pack, digging into your shoulders, have become numb. There's no longer a sharp pain by carrying the weight. It just is. At night, you have to make a conscious effort to sit up straight, otherwise your back naturally hunches, conditioned by the daily hike.
  
  It'll be night soon. The days are shorter than when you first departed from Lord Tiras' city. The sun itself doesn't reach as far in the sky, a clear sign the solstice is near, nature itself mirroring your mood. Dark. Gloomy. This shouldn't be happening. Not now. We're keeping busy. Apparently not busy enough. Where's that drink? No, not now. A little distraction would be nice. It sure as hell would be. Katia has some. Not now.
  
  You pick a spot to rest for the night. You don't even bother spending the energy to create a fire. After tossing your pack to the ground and removing your weapons, you collapse to the ground, wrapping your cloak tightly around your body. Katia does the same, leaning her back against yours, the weight of each of you holding the other upright, warm. You doze off, still upright, resting your forearms against your knees. Katia doesn't move, whether due to sleep or not to disturb you is up for debate.
  
  A new day. The chance to move on. Sunlight gently nudges you awake. Stiff, back aching, inwardly you groan stretching your arms out. Still propped up by Katia, she sits unmoving, finally exhaustion getting the better of her. The morning air is chilling, although it's not much different than the afternoon air. Either way, your breath will be visible. As you stand up, you intend to lay Katia down, but she wakes up due to the movement.
  
  "That time again?" she mumbles.
  
  "Isn't it always," you reply, slinging your pack over one shoulder, the weight numb, like your body in the cold weather. Katia following suit, you press on.
  
  Your reality becomes the next step, the next breath. Steady pace, steady breathing. The journey blends into a timeless, subconscious one. The world around you simply becomes a backdrop. All that matters is the next step, the next breath. It's happening again. Focus. Breath. Remember to...
  
  Devil's Altar.
  
  The two volcanoes stick out like footprints in fresh snow. Black footprints. The mountains surrounding the Altar are more than snow-capped; their entire mountainsides are covered in white powder, unlike the twin volcanoes, which rise from the earth as dark as a stormy night. Rather than snow-capped peaks, they display a rim of red-orange, lava constantly overflowing and running down the sides. Sure enough, nested at their base, in-between the two black mountains rests a stone structure, a stronghold, ominous and uninviting. Your destination.
  
  It sits silent. Waiting. Daring. Its stone is dark, no sign of light within. Built from four walls, a guard tower at each corner, the keep itself is fairly traditional. There are no defining features of architecture drawing the eye. It simply is as intended, a fortification meant to withstand siege, only the drawbridge is down. Despite the apparent open front door, it's not a place the faint of heart enter. You've come this far. There's no turning back now. You willingly approach.
  
  Your footsteps upon the downed drawbridge announce your arrival. They're a dull echo. Somehow it feels quieter. Birds you noticed earlier aren't chirping. The occasional whistle from the wind, gone. Nature itself is silently watching your every move, breath held in suspense. The gate, an ocean of black, patiently waits for you. You don't keep it waiting long.
  
  You can see. Barely. It's dark inside. Your vision is as if wearing a piece of thin cloth over your eyes. Objects can technically be seen, although in a formless, undetailed state. Unlit braziers appear to line the welcoming hall. Something flies overhead. A sudden rush of air comes from above, twisting, growing in number. Incoherent whispers fill your ears, starting small and full of breath. Louder and louder the whispers rise, the words themselves still remaining unavailable. It dulls your sense of hearing, matching your inability to see normally.
  
  Katia screams.
  
  It pierces through your dull ears. Her voice fills the inside of the keep, resonating in its sudden shrillness. Then, just as quickly, Katia's voice is silenced, a soft echo the only part of her left behind. She's gone. You're left alone in darkness, the whispers in the air subsiding as well. Not even they can stand your presence.
  
  > search for Katia
  Being barely able to see, you focus on what does appear to you. Unlit braziers lining the walls, dark, undefined columns supporting the room. No sign of Katia. You kneel to examine the place where she just stood, feeling the stone floor. It's rough with small rocks, dusty. Perhaps once the floor was smooth when the keep was occupied. However, now, its abandonment is made known. The floor is solid enough, and there aren't signs of a trap door. It's as if Katia just...disappeared into thin air.
  
  Speaking of which, the air is heavy with sulfur. Not a huge surprise since you're sitting in-between two volcanoes, but its depth is what stands out, like you're breathing directly into the mountains. There may be a collapsed tunnel underneath the keep allowing the element to stain the air. You never were a scholar, so the thought comes from instinct and what little experience you have. You could be way off base, but one thing's for sure, the sulfuric smell is much too strong than it should be.
  
  She's gone; we need to press on. I will not abandon her. The answer lies with discovering the book. Is that what we came here for? Isn't it? I'm—we're—still figuring that out. We're here. There's no point in wandering around aimlessly. Find the book. Find the girl.
  
  Katia will understand. She knew the risk in coming here. While on a certain level it feels wrong... You cut the thought short. You've never invested in your traveling companions. They've been nothing but tools, each with their own use to compliment certain skillsets that you lack. Katia is no different. She can't be different. If you are to survive, you can't allow others to dictate your action. No ties, no weakness. You act of your own accord. The book lies within the keep. Men have tried to kill you for it. Your future lies with the book. There's but one path ahead.
  
  > press on
  The only option is to press on. Katia understood the danger. The book is close to being in your possession. Who knows? Finding the book could bring the secret to finding Katia. As far as you know, she's not dead. No, you came to the Altar to find the book and discover the mystery within. Her closure will be found along with the book.
  
  You can just make out an entryway at the end of the hall. A black hole, rising to the height of the ceiling. No door attached, simply an empty space. Walking more carefully now, bow drawn and arrow nocked, you make your way across the room, a lone man in the center of the room, crossing past circular columns several times thicker than an aged oak trunk.
  
  Evil marks this place. So we'll fit right in. The keep is silent, save for your soft footsteps on the stone floor. Your steps are muffled, intentionally quiet, but each small sound carries throughout the chamber. Something lurks in the shadows. Objects of worth aren't usually kept in the open. Or unprotected. Or unprotected.
  
  What are we going to do with the book? Haven't decided yet. Better decide soon. One step at a time. First, find the book. Our decision only matters after it's found. Best to focus on the present. The future is uncertain. One thing is certain. What's that? Life is fleeting. You pause, the latest thought unlike the others. Since when have you become sentimental? It's not an untrue statement, but it's not without implication. Life is fleeting. What are you going to do about that? What can anyone do about that? First, find the book. Existential thinking can be saved for later.
  
  The entryway takes you into a long and narrow hallway. By now, your eyes have adjusted fairly well to the dark. Small details fade into a formless mist, but other than that, you can make out your surroundings. Torches line the hallway, unlit of course, matching the braziers in the welcoming hall. Once, the keep displayed signs of life. Now it lies cold, dead. Tomblike.
  
  A spiraling staircase greets you at the end of the hallway, winding both up and down, its banister smooth stone carved into the keep. The staircase is wide. Eight could probably walk side-by-side and still have elbow room. The cube doesn't indicate whether the book lies at the top of the keep or the bottom. Its purpose was to lead you here, and that's just what it did.
  
  There could be a vault below, holding the keep's most precious artifact safely guarded away. Then again, whoever ruled here in the past would reside on the higher levels. As the book was likely in their possession, it makes sense to keep it close to them. Your guess is as good as any. Sometimes you find yourself in a seemingly random situation, uninformed on the outcome. It may appear to be a coin toss, but you have past experience to rely on, to guide your action. Make a decision and move on. What else can we do? Weigh the options, then commit. Whether you choose right or wrong, the journey begins by taking a step forward.
  
  > Up
  The book was in someone's possession. They wouldn't keep it locked away, far from their dwelling quarters. If what Richter said is true, and so far it has been, the book is something to be used, not tucked away. You take the staircase leading up, stepping on each stair as not to tire out your legs. Using the bannister would help, although you'd rather keep an arrow nocked. Up and up it rises, twisting, sending your climb into a slight lean to adjust for the non-linear route.
  
  You climb to the very top. After reaching it, you stop for a few moments to catch your breath. Your legs, still affected by the journey here, get some well-needed rest. Whatever lies in wait will be best confronted with fresh legs—well, as close to that as possible.
  
  As you're about to continue on, something catches your attention. A small scratching noise, perhaps a shuffle of boots, echos softly from a nearby room. From the top of the staircase, a series of rooms line both sides of the walls, their doors wide open, all leading towards a large pair of double doors. Ensuring your arrow is still nocked, you creep forward, ears trained towards the source of the sound.
  
  It's coming from the first room on the right. Drawing closer, you can tell the rooms are various studies and libraries, not residential like you first assumed. Heavy layers of dust gather on their desks and bookshelves, cobwebs almost as common as tomes themselves. No ally is to be found here. Only threats.
  
  You burst into the first room, bowstring drawn. Movement on the floor. Arrow released. The familiar scrape of your bowstring touches your fingers as you release, the arrow's feather lightly tickling your cheek as it's sent towards its target. A small rat lies skewered on the floor, your arrow almost traveling completely through the rodent, if not for hitting the stone floor beneath.
  
  A piercing screech fills the room, causing you to drop to a knee, both hands placed against your ears in defense. Papers fly from desks, books fall from shelves. Banshee's wail. Tormented soul. Pain. The screech tapers off, ending with an agonized whimper, the strength of the outburst turning soft. Wood creaks, hinges in desperate need of oil squeal. The large double doors open of their own accord.
  
  Picking up your bow from the floor next to the dead rat, you nock another arrow and stride towards the open doorway. Your presence is noticed; there's no point in attempting subterfuge now. Best to appear confident, sure of yourself. However, you still check each room as you pass by. Just because you mean to walk through the double doors doesn't mean danger isn't still present. Could be a trap. Could be. You walk through the open doorway.
  
  Small steps lead to a throne in the center of the room. An intimate setting, rather than a grand throne room. Perhaps meant for judging a small council, your best guess, considering the rooms leading here. A corpse sits on the throne, his body long into decay, the few long strands of hair remaining fall underneath a dust-covered crown, which once shined with splendor. Now, it's a dull yellow, fitting for the wearer. You take the first step. The corpse moves.
  
  Bones cracking, a groan escapes through his mouth where his lips once were; they've long since decayed from attachment. You pull back to fire an arrow. Dead eyes meet yours, framed by the remnants of long strands of hair.
  
  "Do it," the corpse whispers, a voice strained, soft, only loud enough to hear in total silence.
  
  > Shoot
  Nodding, you take a step back. You raise your bow into position, arrow nocked. Dead eyes meet yours. You release. The impact snaps the corpse's head back with a sickening crack. Your arrow pins his head against the throne behind him.
  
  From the lower levels of the keep, deep rumbling echos softly beneath your feet. Wisps of dark magic fly into the above you. Black violet rays, originating from the corpse's chest, bends his back unnaturally. Like ribbons in the wind, the wisps fly and twist in the air.
  
  Rumbling growing louder, the very ground beneath you starts to shake. He was bound to this place. Could the place also be bound to him? Seems that way. Chunks of stone begin to fall from the floor, disappearing into lower levels of the keep, leaving behind empty gaps under your feet.
  
  Another otherworldly screech fills the air. Instantly, your bow drops from your hands as you motion to cover your ears. Blood starts to pour from your ears as you crouch down as some sort of escape from the piercing sound.
  
  The ground quakes, knocking you sprawling to the floor. Where you land, the stone has fallen from the floor. Your hands manage to latch onto a piece of rock; your feet dangle in the empty space. Quake. You start to climb up. Quake. The blow slides you down, dangerously close to falling in completely. Quake. Your handhold crumbles under your weight. As you fall into the empty gap, the last thing you see is the corpse's head pinned to the throne behind him, a dusty crown on his head. A rush of air. Nothingness.