4/13/2025, 8:42 PM
Skill 2/5: Ranger
He’d climbed this far under the delusion that it might offer clarity—that the Summit, even blanketed in unseasonable snow, would be quiet. But the air clawed at his throat like frostbitten fingers, each breath thinner than the last, and the sulfur-laced flakes stung his nostrils with every inhale. His legs ached. His lungs rasped. He should have turned back.
He didn’t.
A gust rolled down the mountainside and slipped into the crevice ahead, its howling swallowed by something colder than stone. Isúlfr narrowed his eyes toward the opening, searching instinctively for threats. And there, within the jagged dark, something shifted.
A shape. A shadow. Feminine in the most indistinct way—unsettling, but not entirely foreign. The voice that followed felt like an echo of something long buried, a command that pulled at his instincts rather than his memory. For a moment, it made no sense. Then it did.
Inside. With haste.
He didn’t move at first. The voice hadn’t startled him. It hadn’t even sounded foreign. If anything, it felt like something he had forgotten—an order he had already accepted. He stepped toward the crevice and vanished inside.
The air grew worse. The snow outside had bitten, but the tunnel gnawed. Still, he pressed on. His ears twitched as whispers began to bleed from the stone. Not the woman this time—others. Many. Some ahead. Some behind. He turned once, twice, but the cave was empty. And yet… not. Something lingered. Breaths too soft to echo. Words too blurred to understand.
The path bent. Then forked.
Darkness stretched to the right like a velvet tongue, full of false promises and soothing weight. Isúlfr’s body tilted toward it before he knew he’d moved. It felt like sleep. Like the edge of peace. And then—
You must resist.
He froze. The voice came not from the walls, but from within him. Steady. Cold. As though it had been there all along. He did not answer. He only shifted, one step, then another, toward the chamber on the left. The wind there tore through him like a blade, but he entered all the same.
There—a crack in the wall, breathing ice into the chamber’s heart. Carved beside it were markings: old, unreadable, softly pulsing. He squinted at them, the ache in his chest flaring again, then—
Eaken aln antsir iar klus ...
The voice wove through him. Words he didn’t recognize, but didn’t question. The symbols brightened until the cave glowed blue-white, and suddenly he could breathe again. Slowly. Fully. The pain in his chest began to ease.
Another part of the incantation is complete. Hurry ...
And then the voice was gone.
The whispers had faded. The pull of the dark had gone quiet. Isúlfr stood in stillness, staring at the far end of the tunnel as if it might call again. Nothing came.
He exhaled, long and low, then turned to leave—reluctantly. There were no answers here. Not yet.
He didn’t.
A gust rolled down the mountainside and slipped into the crevice ahead, its howling swallowed by something colder than stone. Isúlfr narrowed his eyes toward the opening, searching instinctively for threats. And there, within the jagged dark, something shifted.
A shape. A shadow. Feminine in the most indistinct way—unsettling, but not entirely foreign. The voice that followed felt like an echo of something long buried, a command that pulled at his instincts rather than his memory. For a moment, it made no sense. Then it did.
Inside. With haste.
He didn’t move at first. The voice hadn’t startled him. It hadn’t even sounded foreign. If anything, it felt like something he had forgotten—an order he had already accepted. He stepped toward the crevice and vanished inside.
The air grew worse. The snow outside had bitten, but the tunnel gnawed. Still, he pressed on. His ears twitched as whispers began to bleed from the stone. Not the woman this time—others. Many. Some ahead. Some behind. He turned once, twice, but the cave was empty. And yet… not. Something lingered. Breaths too soft to echo. Words too blurred to understand.
The path bent. Then forked.
Darkness stretched to the right like a velvet tongue, full of false promises and soothing weight. Isúlfr’s body tilted toward it before he knew he’d moved. It felt like sleep. Like the edge of peace. And then—
You must resist.
He froze. The voice came not from the walls, but from within him. Steady. Cold. As though it had been there all along. He did not answer. He only shifted, one step, then another, toward the chamber on the left. The wind there tore through him like a blade, but he entered all the same.
There—a crack in the wall, breathing ice into the chamber’s heart. Carved beside it were markings: old, unreadable, softly pulsing. He squinted at them, the ache in his chest flaring again, then—
Eaken aln antsir iar klus ...
The voice wove through him. Words he didn’t recognize, but didn’t question. The symbols brightened until the cave glowed blue-white, and suddenly he could breathe again. Slowly. Fully. The pain in his chest began to ease.
Another part of the incantation is complete. Hurry ...
And then the voice was gone.
The whispers had faded. The pull of the dark had gone quiet. Isúlfr stood in stillness, staring at the far end of the tunnel as if it might call again. Nothing came.
He exhaled, long and low, then turned to leave—reluctantly. There were no answers here. Not yet.
