The mountain wind on Eagle's Beak—the winding path carved into the cliffs—always came with a brute force. It howled and sobbed as it squeezed through jagged stone, lashing travelers mercilessly. The narrow trail clung to sheer rock faces, with a dizzying abyss yawning on one side. Only a few thin, gnarled thorns flailed uselessly at the edge, as if begging the wind to spare them.
Above the cliff, Eli trekked in silence. The biting wind tangled his silver-gray hair, and his feathered cloak flapped against the wicker crate on his back, letting drafts snake into his clothes. Behind him, his companions' footsteps rustled—Eli could tell their exhaustion from the sound alone.
He'd heard the Sethelis Plateau was nothing like the Southern Plains, but trekking its peaks was still an eye-opener. He'd lived in the foothills of the Southern Plains for years, thought he knew mountains—until now. Compared to Sethelis, those "mountains" were just molehills.
Thankfully, he'd conquered the worst of it: after miles of scrambling, he'd finally navigated Eagle's Beak, the steepest stretch of Broken Hand Peak. Around a bend, a rocky outcrop jutted forward—an eagle's beak in stone. Standing on it, Eli gazed out. To the north, valleys between peaks were faintly visible. Farther, distant mountains blurred into lead-gray clouds, merging with the sky to trap the entire valley in a gray cage.
"Greyhold."
The valley, shrouded in peaks, was hazy—no sign of a town. But Eli let out a breath anyway, naming their destination. He set the wicker crate down, then turned with a smile.
"Guys, we've crossed Eagle's Beak. From here, it's downhill past Toad Rock, into Jackal Valley, and smooth sailing. The Noisy River's in high water in May—we've got Quarl feather-tokens, so we can float straight to Greyhold."
Truth be told, Eli had never been to Greyhold. But he knew the places around it like the back of his hand—Eagle's Beak, Toad Rock, Jackal Valley, the Noisy River… He'd heard them a hundred times since childhood.
When he first arrived in this world, his foster father—Pastor Tallas—used to talk about Greyhold nonstop. He said Eli's ancestors were hunters there, living off the mountains around town. Unlike them, Tallas had wanted to leave, convinced he'd make something of himself. But in his old age? All he had was a small shrine, raising a strange kid he'd found.
Tallas had talked even when Eli insisted he wasn't a kid, didn't need bedtime stories. Now, looking back, those tales weren't just to lull a child—they were Tallas voicing his homesickness. Too bad Eli hadn't realized that then, hadn't given him any comfort.
Back then, he'd been arrogant—convinced coming from Earth meant he was destined for greatness. He only cared about the big stuff: grudges between gods and demons, legends of archmages, mergers of empires. He wasted too much time on flights of fancy… until Tallas left suddenly, and regret hit hard.
He'd ignored the person he should've cared about most, the things that mattered. He should've listened more while Tallas was still alive.
And now? He was here—Greyhold, the start of Tallas's stories.
"So this is Greyhold… First thing I'm doing when we get there is having a proper feast."
Behind him, the elven ranger Siona let out a cheerful sigh. She was always carefree—her optimism chased away his thoughts. Eli chuckled, shook his head, and set down the wicker crate. He didn't speak, just whispered to the urn inside: We're here. The Greyhold you longed for.
Eli leaned against the rock, joining Tallas in spirit to gaze out over the mountains from Broken Hand's peak. Once he'd burned the view into his mind, he pulled a black leather-bound notebook from his cloak and plucked a quill feather, ready.
Magic welled at the feather's tip, turning it into a pen. Eli flipped through pages of maps and monster sketches—Stonefang Mountains, the Underdark, Castle Syon, gray dwarves, Slara toads, hydras… All his own work. He skimmed past them until he hit a blank page, then began drawing solemnly.
From the peak, everything came into view. Eli drew the landscape meticulously, like he wanted to capture the whole of Greyhold's surroundings on paper.
His old friends knew better than to interrupt. Gawain sat on the ground, tapping a twin-handled drum for fun. Siona stood at the cliff edge, leaning halfway over to look down.
Unlike them, Umai and Niquel—new acquaintances—had lagged behind, supporting each other until they finally reached the top.
"Finally… made it."
Niquel flopped onto the ground without a care for dignity. The nobleman's son from Phoenix City, the capital, panted heavily, spent. His servant and guard, Umai, scanned the area for a rock to keep him from looking unseemly—but before he could find one, Niquel was already up.
His moment of weakness lasted seconds. Realizing it, he straightened up, forcing himself to stand tall. Niquel brushed dirt and tears from his gold-threaded robe (scraped by rocks), tried to keep his composure, then walked to Eli and struck up a conversation.
"Lord Eli, drawing again? After all this climbing, you still have the heart for it—some people are just different. I'm too tired to do anything, let alone enjoy the view. Hey, Lord Eli—when the trip's over, sell me that drawing? I'll keep it as a souvenir of this journey."
Compared to yesterday, Lord Niquel was more enthusiastic today. Eli could guess why: the capital noble had seen the plateau's harsh terrain and wanted to hire Eli long-term. Maybe he thought humbling himself would work—but Eli didn't need the schmoozing.
"Lord Niquel, enjoying the view doesn't take much effort."
Eli drew swiftly, finishing a map in minutes. Ignoring Niquel's curious stare, he closed the notebook and declined.
"As for buying the notebook… You don't need to. I draw to record the world—its mountains, peoples, monsters. To help other adventurers. You don't seem like an adventurer, so why bother?"
"So this book's for benefitting all adventurers?" Niquel sounded impressed. "What a grand dream. But traveling the world, recording every monster… That's gotta be hard. Can one person really do it?"
"How will you know without trying? Besides, do what you think is right, give it your all. As long as you don't regret it, you've done right. And I'm confident in my skills—traveling the world isn't impossible."