Chapter Text
“We’re almost at the top,” the dark haired merchant said, voice low but firm, each word catching a little in the thin mountain air. “Hang on a little longer, Eric.”
The man on his back, Eric, groaned, his weight shifting slightly as he clung tighter, arms looped around the merchant’s shoulders. His breath came ragged and hot against his neck, fevered and damp. “What, you’re going to let a little illness take you down now?” the merchant added, forcing a hint of levity into his tone. His boots scraped over the rough stone, steady and relentless, the sound echoing faintly between the jagged cliffs that surrounded them.
“I’d hit you if I could,” came the muttered reply, heavy with fatigue. The man’s head hung low, greying hair sticking to his temple with sweat.
The wind picked up suddenly, sweeping dust and bits of ice across the narrow trail. It whistled through the skeletal trees below, a ghostly chorus that faded into the deep valleys beyond. The air was getting colder, sharper with every step, but the sunlight above them only seemed to burn brighter, striking the pale azure rocks and setting them aglow with a glare that made the whole world look washed out and unreal. The combination was suffocating, a paradox of light and chill that wrapped around them like a drunk man’s dream.
“This damned sun,” Eric muttered weakly, his voice half-swallowed by the wind. “I swear, Alsan, it’s been getting worse the higher we go…”
“You mean while I go,” Alsan corrected, glancing over his shoulder just enough to catch a glimpse of the man’s pallid face. “You’re just along for the ride, Eric. Field trip of a lifetime.”
Eric made a faint sound that might have been a laugh, or a groan, and moved his leg in what was probably meant as a kick. The effort was pitiful, and Alsan chuckled softly despite himself. “All right, all right. I’ll stop teasing. Just tell me when you need a break, yeah?”
They climbed in silence after that, the only sounds the grind of their boots and the restless rush of wind. The mountain path twisted and steepened, its edges crumbling away into sheer drops where shadows pooled like water. The scattered azure stones that littered the slope caught the sunlight and shimmered eerily, painting their surroundings in ghostly blue. It felt as though they were walking along the bed of a great, sunlit ocean and at any moment, the sky above might close over them like water.
“Stop,” Eric gasped suddenly, voice breaking into a strained groan. “I need a break. It… ah, it hurts.”
The younger man halted at once, shifting his burden carefully before lowering his companion to the ground. He helped him lean against the surface of a large rock, its surface lightly warm to the touch. Eric pressed a hand to his stomach, face twisting in pain.
“Better?” his friend asked quietly.
“No,” he hissed through his teeth. “I need to sit for a bit. Feels like I’m being stabbed from the inside. Damn it… why did I even eat those berries?”
Alsan let out a slow breath and shook his head. “I told you not to. But no, you had to play herbalist.”
“Oh, shut up,” Eric muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. His skin was ghost-pale now, damp with sweat, and every breath he took seemed to cost him effort. Alsan crouched beside him, watching. Beneath the faint banter, worry was beginning to knot in his chest. The signs were unmistakable; shallow breathing, trembling fingers, the faint bluish tinge around his lips. It wasn’t just a fever. The berries had poisoned him, and from the look of it, it was getting worse by the minute. The antidotes they carried weren’t meant for this kind of toxin.
He looked up at the peak looming above them. The Azure Summit shimmered faintly in the distance, jagged ridges that glowed with that strange, unearthly blue. Legends said a spring ran near the top, its waters pure enough to cleanse sickness from the body and soul alike. Alsan didn’t believe in legends, not really, but right now he didn’t care what was myth and what wasn’t. “We’ll rest a minute,” he said, though his mind was already calculating how far they had left to go, and whether he could carry Eric the rest of the way without stopping again. The wind had shifted, sharp and bitter. “Then we move. We have to reach the peak before nightfall.”
Eric’s eyes flickered open, dull but still holding that spark of stubbornness Alsan knew too well. “And if we don’t?”
He didn’t answer. He only looked out over the vast drop below, the shadowed valleys, the sun burning white in the haze, and tightened his jaw. Mountains had taken better men for less. He would not let one take his friend.
“Alsan… I think I’m hearing things…”
Alsan adjusted his hold on the other man, glancing back in concern. Eric’s eyes were glassy, his face flushed with fever, yet there was a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “It’s getting serious, haha…”
“What?”
“A tune,” Eric murmured, blinking sluggishly. “That’s it, I’m a dead man. Hearing music on a mountain….definitely dying.”
“Shh. Quiet.” Alsan straightened, listening. The wind roared between the ridges, but beneath it… yes, there was something else. Faint and strange, threading through the air, a melody, high and thin, like water running over glass. “I can hear it too,” he said after a moment. “You’re fine.”
“Oh thank god,” Eric exhaled, then his voice rose again, sharp with new panic. “Wait. There’s no one here, right? Is it.. is it a ghost?!”
Alsan snorted. “You do remember the peak is inhabited, yes? That’s the entire reason we came up here in the first–”
“Can you not lecture me right now?” Eric snapped, his tone caught somewhere between irritation and desperation. “God, Alsan, give me a break!”
A corner of Alsan’s mouth twitched. “Pft.” He shifted his pack on his shoulder and started moving toward the direction of the sound.
“Wait, hey! Don’t leave me here alone!”
“I’ll be right back,” Alsan called over his shoulder. “Stay there.”
The path curved between narrow rocks and stunted dead trees whose roots clung stubbornly to the mountainside. The tune grew clearer with each step, carried on the sighing wind, something delicate, almost mournful, yet calm in its rhythm. The further he went, the more the air seemed to shimmer with it, as though the sound itself altered the light.
Then the trail opened suddenly into a small clearing. The trees bent away to reveal a sharp drop, the world sprawling endlessly below. The rocks glittered in the strange blue of the mountain, scattered like shards of frozen sky. It was beautiful, but dangerous, one careless step and the slope would send him tumbling into the mist.
And there, at the edge of the cliff, sat a person.
They were perched on a pale boulder, back straight, light spilling across their shoulders and across curly blonde locks. In their hands was a lyre, its frame slender and smooth, strings catching the sunlight as their fingers moved across them with idle precision. The tune faltered and drifted as the wind changed, but they kept playing, gaze distant, as if the world around them were only a half-remembered dream.
The merchant hesitated. He didn’t want to startle them. He took two cautious steps forward, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots nearly swallowed by the wind, but before he could speak, the blonde turned their head. Their eyes were bright and unreadable, and his their expression perfectly still.
“Hello,” he said, voice quiet but clear, a strange, flat tone that carried easily over the breeze. The melody stopped at once, leaving the air oddly hollow.
Alsan blinked, caught off guard. “Good day,” he managed. “I.. I heard you playing.”
The man tilted his head slightly, considering him, as though assessing a curious animal that had wandered too close.
“My friend and I are heading toward the peak,” Alsan went on quickly, suddenly feeling the weight of the stranger’s gaze. “We’re just passing by.”
“What for?” the man asked.
“Business.” Alsan’s tone faltered. “But… there’s a problem. My friend, he’s- he’s not well.”
The man’s eyes widened a fraction, his expression shifting for the first time, a flicker of surprise, maybe concern. “Oh?”
“He ate something he shouldn’t have. Some kind of berry. He’s been in pain since morning, and now he’s burning with fever.” Alsan rubbed the back of his neck, aware of how absurd it sounded, standing there trying to explain his troubles to a stranger with a lyre at the edge of the world. “I was hoping there might be someone nearby who could–”
“Mhm.” The man rose smoothly to his feet, brushing the dust from his long, wind-tangled clothes. There was an odd grace in the gesture, unhurried but precise. “Let’s go.”
Alsan blinked. “What?”
“Your friend,” the man said simply, adjusting the strap of the instrument over his shoulder. “You said he’s sick. Don’t you need help? Isn’t that why you came wandering the slopes alone?”
“Well, we would appreciate it, truly. If you know what to do…” Alsan gestured uncertainly down the path. “This way.”
The stranger nodded once and followed, his steps silent despite the uneven ground. The lyre hung loosely at his side, its strings faintly trembling in the wind as if the mountain itself were still humming his unfinished tune. They started down the narrow trail toward the place where Eric waited. The wind had quieted somewhat, but it carried with it a thin, cold whistle that seemed to trace the ridges and echo faintly between the rocks. Alsan led the way, though he couldn’t shake the uneasy weight settling in his chest.
Something about the man behind him felt… wrong. Not in any obvious way; his steps were quiet, his demeanor calm, but there was an unnatural stillness in him, as though he were not quite part of the world they stood in. Alsan resisted the urge to look back again, but the instinct won. The stranger followed a few paces behind, his head bowed slightly against the wind. He had gathered his long, pale curls into a loose ponytail, his fingers deft and unhurried. The man’s presence was like seeing something through glass: visible, familiar in shape, but somehow not meant to be touched. He told himself it was nothing. The stranger had offered help, and the way he had spoken, quiet, practical, confident, suggested no malice. Still, Alsan’s hand brushed the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath his sleeve, just to feel the cold reassurance of steel there. He wasn’t taking chances.
Eric spotted them before they reached him. He was slumped against the rock where Alsan had left him, face flushed and eyes half-lidded. “Oh, finally!” he groaned. “I thought you’d left me for the wolves to-” He stopped when he saw the figure walking behind Alsan. “Who is this?”
“The music,” Alsan began, nodding back toward the man. “It was coming from him, he-”
Before he could finish, the stranger knelt beside Eric, movements smooth and deliberate. He placed a cool hand against Eric’s forehead and frowned. “Oh my,” he murmured softly. “You’re burning up.”
Eric rolled his eyes weakly. “Yeah, no shit.”
Alsan sighed. “He’s grumpy when he’s sick,” he said, shooting Eric a look that was half warning, half apology.
To his surprise, the man chuckled a quiet, genuine sound that seemed to ripple through the strange stillness surrounding him. “No worries,” he said. From the small pouch at his belt, he drew out a slim glass vial filled with a faintly shimmering liquid. “Here. Take this.”
Eric eyed it warily. “What is it?”
“For the pain,” the man replied simply. “Judging by the progression of your symptoms, you’ll need to reach the peak quickly if you want the antidote to work in time. Drink this now, it will help until then.”
The older merchant turned to Alsan, a silent question in his eyes. Alsan hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Go on.”
He pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a sip, grimacing. “Ugh. Bitter.”
“Apologies,” the stranger said mildly, standing again and brushing off his knees.
Alsan watched them both carefully. The air felt heavier now, charged with something he couldn’t name. “How do you feel?” he asked.
Eric blinked a few times. “I… don’t feel anything,” he said, voice slurred but strangely calm. “Am I.. am I cured? That’s fast! Maybe I don’t even need–”
He didn’t finish. His words broke off in a shallow gasp as his body went limp, head dropping forward.
“Eric?” Alsan caught him before he could slide to the ground. His heart lurched as he shook him lightly. “Eric! Come on, wake up.” There was no response, only the faint rise and fall of his chest. He looked up sharply, meeting the stranger’s unreadable gaze. “What did you do to him?”
The man didn’t flinch. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “He’s fine. He won’t feel pain for a while, until we get him to the top.”
Alsan narrowed his eyes, the muscles in his shoulders tensing. “You drugged him.”
“I eased his suffering,” the man replied. His tone was steady, unthreatening, but it made Alsan’s skin crawl. “Trust me.”
For a long moment, neither moved. The wind stirred the hem of the stranger’s robes, carrying with it the faint echo of that earlier melody, or perhaps just the memory of it. Then, with a slow exhale, Alsan nodded once, tightening his grip around his friend.
“Fine,” he said quietly. “But if anything happens to him before we reach the peak…”
The stranger only inclined his head. “It won’t.”
And with that, they started walking again; the mountain watching in silence as the three figures disappeared into the deep blue light of the trail.
Alsan gave the man a long, measured look, the kind meant to demand an answer without words. The stranger’s eyes flicked toward him, unreadable, and then he spoke softly.
“Trust me,” he said.
The words hung in the cold air like a thread drawn tight between them. Alsan didn’t reply. Instead, he shifted Eric’s limp weight more securely onto his back, gritting his teeth as he adjusted his footing on the rocky slope. The man fell into step beside him without being asked, his movements light, unhurried, as though the path were familiar to him, as though he’d walked it countless times before.
They climbed in silence for a while. The wind sighed through the sparse trees, and the sun, now sinking behind the distant ridge, cast a pale gold over the mountain’s blue stones. Every few moments, Alsan’s gaze strayed sideways, stealing glances at his companion. The man seemed entirely at ease, untouched by fatigue, his expression calm, almost serene. His cloak fluttered behind him with the rhythm of his steps. The sight made Alsan’s skin prickle. It wasn’t just the strangeness of him, the soft cadence of his voice, or that stillness in his bearing, it was the sense that he belonged here, in a way Alsan and Eric never could. The mountain, with all its shifting light and eerie silence, seemed to recognize him.
He found himself speaking before he’d even decided to. “What are you?”
The man turned his head slightly, brow furrowing. “What?”
“You carry medicine,” Alsan said, eyes narrowing a little. “You play the lyre. You walk around like this place isn’t trying to kill you. So what are you?”
For a moment the man only blinked at him, as though genuinely confused. Then a small, amused sound escaped him, a soft snort that could have been laughter. “Oh. That’s what you mean.”
Alsan raised an eyebrow. “What did you think I–”
But the man interrupted gently. “In that case, I owe you an introduction. My name is Zyl Rie,” he said, pausing briefly as though weighing each syllable. “I am a disciple here at Azure Peak.”
“Disciple,” Alsan repeated, testing the word. “So you live here?”
“Yes,” Zyl Rie said with a slight nod. “I study under the mountain’s monastery. It’s not far from the summit.”
Alsan adjusted his grip on Eric, careful not to slip on the uneven stones. “Alsan,” he offered after a beat. “Merchant. And this lump here is Eric, my friend and business partner.”
The blonde smiled, and the change in his face was subtle but startling. His features softened, and for a brief moment, the strange stillness about him lifted. “A pleasure, Alsan. And Eric,” he said lightly, glancing at the unconscious man on Alsan’s back. “Though I suspect he’ll be rather cross with me when he wakes.”
The merchant huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, he will. He’s not one to forgive being knocked out by strangers.”
“It was for his own good,” Zyl Rie said, firm with certainty. “The pain would only have worsened if I’d let him stay awake. What I gave him will slow the poison’s spread for a while.”
Alsan glanced sideways at him again. “You know about medicine, then.”
Zyl Rie nodded once. “I’ve studied healing and herbal practice for several years. Though I’m not yet permitted to treat major poisonings alone. There are rules, and hierarchies, and… well.” He gave a small shrug. “I know.. a thing or two.”
Alsan almost smiled at that. A thing or two. Yet the man’s pouch had been filled with tinctures, vials, crushed herbs sealed in waxed cloth, the kind of kit that would put any traveling apothecary to shame.
As they walked, the light began to dim further, the shadows of the high peaks stretching long across the path. The air grew colder, sharp and thin, and yet Zyl Rie seemed untouched by it, his breath steady, his steps quiet, eyes fixed ahead with an expression that was almost reverent.
A while later, they finally reached the peak. The air had grown thinner and colder, but clearer too, almost sacred in its stillness. Mist curled around the jagged stones like slow-moving breath, and through it emerged the carved archway of Azure Peak Monastery. Its gates were flanked by two half-giants clad in pale silver armor, their faces calm and unblinking. When they caught sight of Zyl Rie, they inclined their heads in perfect unison, no words exchanged, no questions asked. Zyl Rie smiled as he passed between them, a soundless gesture of familiarity. “Here we are,” he announced lightly, his tone carrying an unshaken calm that didn’t quite fit the eerie grandeur around them. “Now, I have a small favor to ask.”
Alsan arched a brow, shifting the weight of Eric on his back. “A favor?”
“Mhm,” Zyl Rie hummed, glancing back over his shoulder. “If anyone asks, you met me near the entrance. Alright?”
He let out a dry laugh. “Are you hiding something?”
Zyl Rie tilted his head, curls catching in the pale mountain wind. “Wandering around the mountain is not really advised,” he said at last, tone slipping toward sheepish. “More like, it’s not allowed at all.”
“Why is that?”
“Discipline. Rules. Something something,” he muttered with a wry little grin. “The elders are a bit strict. Speaking of which, do you have a permit? You said you’re here for business, and well, you need a permit for that.”
“Of course, of course,” Alsan said, though his voice carried more charm than conviction.
“Excellent. Then follow me. Let’s get your poor friend to the infirmary before he decides to curse me when he wakes up.”
Alsan followed him through the monastery’s winding courtyards, where thin threads of incense hung in the air and monks in pale robes crossed silently between carved stone pillars. Every step seemed to echo, swallowed up by the vast hush of the mountain. The strange man beside him, this Zyl Rie, walked with an easy grace, and the longer Alsan watched him, the less threatening he seemed. If anything, he appeared deeply at home here, as if the wind itself made room for him to pass.
His first impression of Zyl Rie, an eerie, unreadable man with eyes like quicksilver, was slowly softening into something else. He wasn’t cold at all, just… guarded. There was an air of someone used to solitude. But when he spoke, his voice had warmth, humor even, and it chipped away at the distance between them.
Before long, Eric was lying comfortably on a low cot in the infirmary, his breathing steadier, the fever’s flush cooling from his face. The space was filled with the scent of herbs, soft chants from somewhere beyond the paper screens, and the faint trickle of water from an unseen fountain.
“He will be alright,” Zyl Rie said reassuringly, kneeling beside the cot. “It’s not a difficult poisoning to treat. We have all the medicine he’ll need.”
Alsan folded his arms, watching Eric’s still form. “How long until he recovers?”
“That depends on how strong he is, and how long it’s been since the poison entered his blood,” Zyl Rie replied, glancing up with a thoughtful hum. “More or less, a week.”
“A week?” Alsan raised a brow. “And you still say it’s not serious?”
He laughed softly, the sound surprisingly bright in the quiet room. “It is serious. But we can handle it. So don’t worry.” His smile then was unguarded, the kind that disarmed suspicion by simply existing.
He pointed toward a cluster of buildings beyond the infirmary walls, their roofs glinting faintly in the mist. “Over there are the guest quarters. You can rest there for now. When you’re settled, come find me in the dining hall; see that larger building beside them? I’ll be there. You must be starving after the climb.”
Alsan exhaled, tired but grateful. “Thank you. For everything.”
Zyl Rie inclined his head, the gesture both humble and teasing. “Don’t thank me yet, merchant. We haven’t even fed you.”
And with that, he turned to speak with one of the healers, the lamplight catching in his golden curls. For the first time since the climb began, Alsan felt a quiet sense of safety, not from the mountain, but from the strange, enigmatic man who had met them halfway up its haunted slopes.
Later that evening, once Alsan had washed the dust and travel weariness from himself and changed into cleaner clothes, he found his way to the monastery’s dining hall. The air was fragrant with the scent of roasted herbs and simmering broth, and for the first time since their climb began, he realized how hollow his stomach felt. His hunger had been dulled by worry and exhaustion before, but now it returned with full force, twisting pleasantly at the smell of food.
As promised, Zyl Rie was there. He stood near the long wooden counter, chatting lightly with one of the kitchen attendants. The lamplight flickered on his hair, pulling warm gold from every curl. When he spotted Alsan at the entrance, his entire expression lit up; the quiet reserve from earlier replaced by an open, boyish brightness. He waved him over enthusiastically.
“This is Alsan, our new guest!” he announced, grinning toward the man beside him. “He got into quite the adventure getting up here, Vero, so make sure you treat him well.”
The merchant chuckled under his breath as he approached. “Hello,” he greeted politely, still slightly unsure of the ease with which Zyl Rie drew him in.
“Welcome!” said the man; Vero, the chef. He was broad shouldered and cheerful, with sleeves rolled up and an apron dusted with flour. “I’m the chef here. Tonight’s meal is pork soup with freshly picked mushrooms, and lemon pudding for dessert.”
“Lemon… pudding?” Alsan echoed, surprised.
“It’s very good, trust me,” Zyl Rie interjected, smiling in a way that was half amusement, half persuasion. “So? Does that sound alright to you?”
“More than alright. Thank you.”
“Excellent,” Zyl Rie said, clapping his hands once. “Come on, let’s sit. Work your magic, Vero!”
The two of them walked to a table tucked against the side of the hall, near a set of large windows. The hall itself was vast but quiet, lined with pale stone and soft light that made every sound seem hushed. The windows caught Alsan’s attention immediately, as they were thick, made of layered glass, almost like transparent shields.
Zyl Rie noticed his look and leaned forward slightly. “Sandstorms,” he explained.
“What?”
“All the windows here are built like that,” he said, gesturing toward the thick panes. “Especially near the cliffs. The wind up here can carry half the desert with it when it gets angry.”
“I see,” Alsan murmured, his gaze turning outward. The view beyond the glass was dizzying, an endless drop into mist and cloud, where the world below seemed to dissolve into an otherworldly haze.
Silence settled between them, comfortable and full of small sounds: the faint clatter of cutlery, the echo of distant footsteps, the low hum of monks speaking somewhere beyond the hall. Soon enough, Vero arrived with their food, placing steaming bowls and warm bread before them.
“I can personally vouch for Vero’s cooking,” said Zyl Rie, tearing a piece of bread and handing it across the table. “He’s the best we have up here. Enjoy.”
Alsan smiled faintly. “Will do. Thank you.”
The first spoonful was heaven. The soup was rich, earthy with mushrooms, and the pork so tender it melted on his tongue. Conversation drifted into quiet appreciation of the meal; the kind of silence that felt companionable, not strained. The sun, meanwhile, had begun to dip low, staining the clouds outside in gold and copper. The entire hall glowed with that warm light, painting Zyl Rie’s features in soft amber.
“It’s beautiful here,” Alsan said after a while, his gaze drawn to the horizon.
“Mhm.”
“What?” he teased. “You don’t think so?”
Zyl Rie’s lips twitched in a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s alright,” he said quietly. “It’s just… very lonely.” His voice softened near the end, as though confessing something he hadn’t meant to.
“Lonely?” Alsan asked, curious.
The blonde kept his eyes on the view. “We don’t get visitors often. And we rarely go down to the cities below.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged, resting his chin on his hand. “The more experienced healers are sometimes summoned when there’s need. And we send a group down every few months for supplies. But otherwise? There’s no leaving without purpose. That’s how it’s always been.”
“So you can’t leave this place?”
“Oh, I can leave,” he said with a faint, ironic smile. “I just can’t wander. There are dangers on the mountain, like those berries your friend decided to eat.”
Alsan laughed under his breath. “Right. Those.” Then, after a pause, he asked, “But do you want to leave? One day?”
Zyl Rie hesitated. His fingers played with the edge of his bread, tearing it absently. “I wouldn’t know what to do out there,” he admitted finally.
They sat in silence for a long moment, the sunset spilling across the table like honey. The monastery’s bells began to toll faintly in the distance, calling the evening hour. Alsan leaned back slightly, studying the younger man’s face. “You could play your lyre,” he said. “Help people with your herbs and potions. You already have knowledge worth carrying into the world.”
Zyl Rie laughed quietly, turning his gaze toward him with a small, wistful smile. “Maybe someday,” he said. “If the mountain ever lets me go.”
And for a moment, Alsan thought there was something in his eyes; a flicker of longing, perhaps, or of someone who had once dreamed of leaving but no longer dared to.