Wind sliced along the mountain trail, carrying flecks of crystal and the faint tang of blood from the cliffs above. The path clung to the mountainside, a narrow scar of ice and stone, flanked by a sheer drop into a chasm where gray mist swallowed jagged rocks. Belial led the way, his cloak snapping in the gusts, boots crunching the brittle crystalline underfoot. His golden eyes scanned the horizon, sharp and unyielding, though his posture remained loose, almost careless. The slope widened just enough for the group to spread out, but they kept a wary distance from the edge, their breaths clouding in the frigid air.
At the rear, Shun, the silver-haired leader with piercing blue eyes, walked with measured steps. His presence anchored the group, though his silence weighed heavier than the wind. His armor, polished but scarred, gleamed faintly under the overcast sky, and his hand rested on the hilt of a blade sheathed at his side. Belial glanced back, catching Shun's gaze for a fleeting moment before turning forward again. The leader's eyes held a storm—calm but dangerous, a promise of action held in check.
The group reached a bent pine, its gnarled branches clawing at the sky, clinging to life in the unrelenting cold. Belial stopped, turning to face them. Toren, tall and broad in his dented armor, trudged forward, head bowed against the wind. Xin hovered a step behind, hammer strapped across his back, eyes darting with relentless calculation. The non-Emergents—pale, weary, bundled in tattered cloaks—clustered further down the path, their faces etched with fear and exhaustion. Rose, a slight figure with auburn hair, lingered among them, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the tension.
Belial's gaze settled on Shun first. He strode toward the leader, boots grinding crystal into dust, and stopped a pace away. "Shun," he said, voice low but carrying over the wind. "You're the one holding this ragtag band together. Figured I'd give you first crack at the decision."
Shun's blue eyes narrowed, unreadable. "You're asking me to choose?"
"Not asking," Belial said, a smirk curling his lips. "Offering. Rare privilege. Savor it." He gestured toward the peaks, jagged silhouettes against the sky. "Beyond that ridge lies a mountain range bigger than anything these folks have seen. On the other side? The place we're headed. Our little corner of destiny."
Shun's expression didn't shift. "You've scouted it?"
"Scouted, scryed, bribed a few wandering Hollows." Belial's smirk widened. "I do my work."
Shun crossed his arms, the faint clink of armor audible. "What are the paths?"
Belial raised a gloved hand, counting off with deliberate ease. "Three options, my silver-haired friend. First, the safe route. We skirt the range entirely. Dodge cursed valleys, Scourge nests, black ice fields. Takes six months, maybe a year with this lot." He nodded toward the non-Emergents, who shrank under his glance. "Slow, steady, soul-crushing."
A murmur rippled through the group. Rose's smile faltered, her eyes flicking to Shun.
"Second," Belial continued, raising another finger, "the shorter way. Cuts through the lesser passes. Faster—maybe three months. But the weak ones don't make it. Emergents, especially Balancers like you and Toren, probably survive. The rest…" He shrugged, letting the implication hang.
The non-Emergents stiffened, their whispers growing sharper. Toren's head lifted, his gaze locking onto Belial.
"Third," Belial said, a gleam of relish in his eyes, "the direct route. Straight through the mountains' ribs. Less than a month. Faster than any caravan would dare. But you'd better settle your affairs first."
Shun tilted his head, silver hair catching the faint light. "What's the difference between the second and third?"
"Difference?" Belial spread his arms. "About twenty Primes. Give or take."
The word struck like a hammer. The wind itself seemed to pause. Toren's gauntleted hands flexed, and Xin's hammer creaked in its straps. The non-Emergents froze, their faces paling further.
"Twenty Primes?" Shun's voice was steady, but a muscle twitched in his jaw.
"Maybe nineteen. Maybe twenty-one. Math's not my strength." Belial leaned against the pine, snow sifting from its branches. "They're not lined up waiting, either. They roam. They hunt. Some bored, some angry, all hungry."
Xin stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Primes this far south?"
Belial's grin sharpened. "Surprising, right? Maybe the Madwoman's stirring things up. Maybe she's just having a bad day. Who knows?"
Shun's hand tightened on his sword hilt. "The Madwoman?"
Belial straightened, his grin unwavering. "Our destination. A charming visit with the Madwoman herself."
A low gasp escaped the non-Emergents. Rose's smile vanished entirely, replaced by a tight-lipped frown. Toren's voice rumbled, low and hard. "You're not serious."
"When am I not?" Belial said, raising a hand to forestall argument. "Rhetorical. Don't answer."
He had to keep the man on his toes, to distract him from well...him.
Xin's voice cut through, calm but edged. "We're dragging these people through a Prime-infested range to meet the Madwoman?"
"Dragging's harsh," Belial said, tapping his chin. "Guiding. Leading. Inspiring."
Toren exhaled sharply. "This is madness."
"Madness is subjective," Belial replied. "I'm offering efficiency. The direct route gets us there fastest. Maybe in time for the Madwoman's second act, assuming she hasn't finished it but unlike the first there is no multiple second acts."
Silence fell, heavy as the mountains. Snowflakes drifted, catching on cloaks and armor.
Toren's eyes flicked to Shun. "You're considering this?"
Shun didn't respond immediately. His blue eyes studied Belial, then swept over the group. "What's the plan if we meet those Primes?"
Belial's expression cooled. "Run if possible. Fight if not. You, Toren, Xin—do your jobs, and we survive. Fail, and…" He spread his hands, palms up.
One of the non-Emergents, a thin man with a trembling voice, spoke up. "Is the Madwoman… safe?"
Belial laughed, sharp and bright. "Safe? She's a delight. Temperamental, but a delight."
Rose stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm. "What are the odds we all survive the direct route?"
Belial tilted his head. "Better than zero."
"That's not enough," Xin said, arms crossed.
"It's the truth," Belial shot back. "No promises in these mountains."
Toren turned to Shun. "This is reckless. These people aren't fighters."
Shun's gaze remained on Belial. "You're pushing the direct route. Why?"
Belial stepped closer, lowering his voice for Shun alone. "Because every day out here, they're dying. Slow or fast, it's the same. The long road means starvation, frostbite, despair. You know it. I know it. The direct route gives us a shot to end this before it breaks them."
Shun's eyes held his, unflinching. "You're gambling with their lives."
"I'm gambling with a chance," Belial said. "You want safety? There's none. Not here. Not under this broken sky."
Shun said nothing, his silence a wall. Belial turned to the group, raising his voice. "Three paths. Three risks. Safe and slow, a year of suffering. Shorter, some die. Direct, we face Primes but reach the Madwoman fastest. Choose."
The wind howled. The non-Emergents murmured, fear threading their voices. Toren and Xin exchanged a glance, then looked to Shun. Rose watched him too, her hands twisting in her cloak.
Xin spoke first. "Direct route means we need a plan. Tight formation. Nightly scouts. Decoys. Fallback points."
Belial gave a low whistle. "Tactician's already working. I like it."
Toren's voice was flat. "The non-Emergents won't last."
"Some will," Belial said. "With your strength, Xin's plans, Shun's leadership. And me, though you hate admitting it."
Shun's jaw tightened. He stepped past Belial, addressing the group. "We rest here one hour. Discuss. Decide together."
Belial raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He walked to the cliff's edge, boots crunching, and planted himself on the icy stone. Below, mist churned like a living thing. His smile held no warmth.
Behind him, the group huddled. Shun's low voice carried, steady and commanding, as he spoke to Toren and Xin. Rose joined them, her quiet suggestions cutting through the murmurs. The non-Emergents listened, their fear palpable but tempered by Shun's presence.
Belial closed his eyes, letting the wind bite his face. "Your move, Shun," he whispered.