Crunch. Crunch.

  Her boots pressed into the snow, the soft sound rhythmic as she continued her climb. The mountain path wound upward, narrowing in places, disappearing into the swirling snowfall ahead.

  Emma’s thoughts wandered.

  The egg.

  She had come for it, had climbed this mountain for it. But what if… what if something had taken it? What if a monster had found it first? What if it had been destroyed?

  Her pace quickened. She shoved the thoughts away, forcing herself to focus on something else, anything else. It was still there. It had to be.

  Her breath came in steady puffs of white vapor as she ascended, pushing through the cold winds. Snowflakes clung to her clothes, dusting the dark fabric of her skirt and sleeves. She didn't feel the damp chill they brought, her mind fixed on her destination.

  Then suddenly..

  A shift.

  It was subtle, like a thread plucked in the fabric of the world around her. A change in the air. A flicker in her instincts.

  Emma slowed.

  Her body tensed slightly, her heartbeat steady but alert. The sensation was difficult to describe, but it felt as though something had turned toward her. Not physically, not something she could see but a presence. A force.

  Like the weight of unseen eyes pressing down.

  Is someone… thinking of harming me?

  Her gaze lifted toward the sky, searching. But the storm above churned violently, thick snow obscuring everything beyond a few feet ahead.

  She saw nothing.

  But she didn’t need to.

  The feeling remained.

  Emma took another step, slower this time, her movements measured. The once rhythmic crunch of her boots grew more deliberate as she continued forward, her senses sharpened, waiting.

  Unaware..

  That high above, beyond sight, beyond sound, beyond reason.

  Something watched.

  Waiting.

  Staring.

  Intently.

  ***

  Emma continued her ascent, each step pressing into the thick, powdery snow, her boots leaving behind faint impressions before the wind began to erase them. The storm howled, weaving through the jagged slopes, carrying with it a sharp, biting wind that sent small flurries swirling around her. But none of it affected her.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The cold couldn’t reach her.

  Yet, that didn’t mean she was completely undisturbed.

  She exhaled, watching as the breath left her lips in a thin, misty wisp before vanishing. Her gaze drifted upward toward the peak, which remained obscured by the ever-falling veil of white. No matter how far she walked, the summit still seemed impossibly distant, as if the mountain stretched higher with every step she took.

  It was slow. Too slow.

  How much longer would it take to reach the top?

  Emma mulled over her options, her mind calculating. She had the stamina to sprint, the endurance to endure a faster pace. She could even use Matana, tapping into his abilities to reach the peak in an instant if she wanted to.

  But speed wasn’t the problem.

  Getting there safely was.

  The mountain was unpredictable. If she rushed, she risked drawing attention, attracting something unwanted, something that could delay her more than the slow pace of walking ever would. The last thing she needed was a battle she didn’t ask for, a fight that would only serve as a hindrance to her goal.

  She exhaled again, slower this time.

  Her decision was made.

  She would keep walking.

  No shortcuts. No recklessness.

  Just steady, calm movement.

  Crunch. Crunch.

  Her boots pressed into the snow once more, her pace unwavering as she followed the winding path. The air around her was thick with silence, save for the occasional gusts of wind that swept through the mountainside, whistling through unseen crevices.

  Then... slowly

  A sound.

  Faint.

  Distant.

  Her steps slowed. She tilted her head slightly, her unique-white eyes narrowing as she focused on the noise. It wasn’t the wind.

  It was voices.

  Not the murmuring of the air. Not the whispering of the snow. But real, human voices.

  Emma turned toward the sound, her body shifting fluidly as she adjusted her path. She moved with purpose, heading toward the left, where the echoes had come from.

  With each step, the voices became clearer. The echoes faded, replaced by distinct tones... words spoken in urgency, in worry.

  Then, something felt off.

  Emma’s expression didn’t change, but her senses sharpened. There were at least four voices, but two of them stood out more than the rest. They weren’t speaking casually. There was weight behind their words.

  Concern.

  Desperation.

  Panick.

  She didn’t rush forward. Instead, she moved with calculated silence, slipping into a space where she could observe unseen. A partially broken structure.. remnants of old, cracked wood and withered leaves, provided enough cover.

  She lowered herself slightly, pressing against the cold bark of a decayed tree, and peered through the gaps.

  Four figures.

  The first caught her attention immediately.

  A boy.. young, no older than eight, laid on the frozen ground. His body was still, his small frame curled inward as if trying to hold onto warmth that wasn’t there. His black hair clung to his damp forehead, his pale gray eyes barely open, their light fading.

  Dark blue ichor pooled beneath him.

  Blood.

  His blood.

  It was different from that of a human, though thick and rich, yet something about it seemed… different. The color of it made Emma conclude that he wasn’t entirely human. Perhaps he was something else. another race perhaps...

  Emma’s gaze shifted.

  Beside him, kneeling close, was a girl.

  She was older.. twelve, maybe a little more, her black hair identical to the boy’s, her pale gray eyes mirroring his. Her hands trembled as they held his head up, cradling it gently as if afraid he would slip away the moment she let go.

  Her expression was pure, unfiltered worry.

  Not just fear... desperation.

  Emma studied her for a moment longer before shifting her focus again.

  The third figure.

  A girl, ten years old at most.

  Her red hair was styled into two neat buns, yet stray strands had escaped, framing her face in wild curls. Her deep green eyes, like polished emeralds were calm, though looking closely you'll see a flicker of concern boldly written in their depths.

  She stood a little apart from the siblings, her hands curled into fists at her sides. She was tense, but not from fear. It was something else.

  Something heavier.

  Emma remained still, her fingers brushing against the wood she hid behind. She could feel the rough, aged texture beneath her fingertips, feel the dampness of the snow clinging to the old bark.

  Her gaze landed on the last figure.

  A boy.

  Older than the rest.

  Fourteen, maybe.

  Dark blue hair, unkempt and rough, stuck to his forehead from the dampness of the chilling air. His deep blue eyes, like the depths of the sea, were locked onto the injured child.

  But they were not calm.

  Not like the ocean’s gentle waves.

  There was something else lurking beneath their surface.

  Something waiting.

  Something unreadable...