Up The Mountain

There probably isn’t much point in running. Whoever’s behind this can casually teleport me across the world, possibly worlds, so it’s not like I could get away, even if I tried. And where would I even go? This clearly isn’t the US. It might not even be a real place, despite how realistic it is.

Taking one last look at the village below—medieval fantasy architecture, straw rooftops, probably no indoor plumbing—I adjust my pack and turn my attention to the mountain. I’ve read enough books to know how that story goes. Best case scenario, I’m the weirdo outsider. Worst case? I’m a witch. No, thanks. No, it would be best to just get this mission over with.

The first couple of step are easy.

It doesn't take long for that to change.

By the time I reach the first bend, I’m already feeling the weight of the bag digging into my shoulders. God, this thing is heavy. I’ve never had to carry something like this before, and it’s becoming painfully clear how out of shape I am. My thighs burn with every step, my muscles already protesting, but I push forward. Giving up isn’t an option. Not here.

I **** myself to keep going, taking short breaks every few hundred steps. It was a good excuse to enjoy the view—definitely postcard material—and read the etched tablets that littered the path anyway. They seemed to be dropping the lore of this setting. The very first one at the foot of the mountain read, "Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus; Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs; For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land".

Classic fantasy stuff. Dragons, ancient powers, cryptic sayings. It feels like something out of one of those books I used to read as a kid.

The steps don’t get any easier, but I fall into a rhythm. A few hundred steps later, after my legs are already begging for mercy, I run into a man. He’s standing in front of one of the tablets, with his hands raised in prayer. His leather outfit looks like some attempt at armor, but it’s doing a pretty poor job of covering his upper body. I hesitate to even call it armor—it’s more like some weird medieval cosplay. I’m not sure whether to approach him or sneak past, but before I can make a decision, he looks up and notices me.

"Headed to High Hrothgar?" he asks, his voice rough but not unfriendly. He has a traditionally "medieval" accent. "Keep an eye out for wolves."

Wolves. Of course. Because this wouldn’t be a proper fantasy adventure without dangerous wildlife. I nod and thank him for the warning, then take a moment to read the tablet he was praying to.

"Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus; The Dragons presided over the crawling masses; Men were weak then, and had no Voice"

The lore’s a bit heavy-handed, but the gist was pretty clear. Dragons ruling over humanity, men too weak to speak—or maybe to resist? Either way, there’s a clear hierarchy here. Although, I guess it depends if this is a "the dragons are gone" fantasy setting or a "we got to get rid of these dragons" setting. I’m about to move on when something crosses my mind.

“Hey, what else should I watch out for?” I ask. “Other than wolves, I mean.”

The man gives me a curious look but answers. “Bears. Saber cats. Ice wraiths. And if you’re unlucky, maybe a frost troll.”

I blink. Frost troll?

“Thanks,” I mutter, suddenly feeling less confident about this whole mission.

Pressing on, it doesn't take me long to encounter the wolves. Thankfully, my range was large enough that I spotted them through the fleas in their fur a decent distance away from where they were lying in wait, probably waiting for a poor sucker like myself to pounce on. Honestly, the idea of killing an animal, especially when I didn't have to, made my stomach turn a bit. So I gathered my swarm and sent it to distract the wolves while I did what I did best, and ran away.

It worked surprisingly well.

It wasn't long until they were out of range and I resumed my walk. Only then do I allow myself to slow down, breathing heavily. The cold bites into my skin, the air thinner now, and I can see my breath in front of me. Snow blankets the ground, and the higher I go, the less life I can feel. The bugs—the few that remain—are sluggish, barely responsive.

Which is an issue considering they're currently my only way of defending myself. Thinking it over, I...