Magister Insanity

Some time later, after gathering the necessary resources, we resumed our search for a suitable place to rest. Walking along the stone path was far easier than scaling the mountain wall. The change of pace even left room for stray, unnecessary thoughts.

But my mind remained fixed on something far more troubling. The image of the Hollow Sentinel watching from within the ashen forest refused to fade, like a scene pulled straight from a horror film.

Fortunately, there was one thing I could be certain of: at least, according to the game's rules. Sentinels were always horsemen, and they never abandoned their mounts. No matter how monstrous the steed, a horse couldn't climb a mountain slope. That meant we didn't have to worry about being pursued here.

And yet... a sense of doubt lingered.

Was that really the case? Were we actually safe?

'It's probably nothing. I shouldn't be too concerned.'

Looking around, no one spoke, apparently occupied with their own thoughts.

The sun dipped toward the horizon, spilling a thousand hues of crimson across the world. High among the peaks, the air was crisp and biting, cut through by streaks of blazing scarlet. Beneath, a turbulent sea of clouds crawled past the cliffs, while the first stars and the moon dared to shine in the vermilion heavens.

It was breathtaking.

Perhaps I might have lingered to admire it, if only I wasn't so exhausted, parched, and painfully starved! Every part of me ached like crazy, but most of all my hands. My fingers throbbed so uncontrollably that the sensation within them was beginning to fade.

After a bit of searching and wandering, we eventually found something suitable.

Not far from the path, tucked behind a cluster of tall rocks, we discovered a narrow crevice that cut into the mountain's slope. Such luck! This was the perfect protection against the piercing wind. Without wasting time, the group squeezed inside and followed it until it opened into a small, well-concealed cave.

Margaret settled the gathered woods on the ground and attempted to make a fire. But each attempt ended in failure, causing her to frown.

Choi Minho clicked his tongue.

"Tch. How could someone be so useless? You can't even do something as simple as setting a fire. Move! I will do it myself. "

Pushing her aside, Minho knelt over the scattered kindling. Sparks flew as he struck the flint again and again, but the dry wood stubbornly refused to ignite. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his jaw tightened with growing impatience.

"Damn it… this is ridiculous."

Cursing, he kicked at a small pile of sticks. The others watched silently.

Usually, Grant had been the one to make the fire. Tonight, for the first time, we were fending for ourselves without him. The memory of our last conversation surfaced, and a heavy weight settled over my chest.

He had died far too soon.

"Aha!"

Finally, a tiny wisp of smoke curled from the kindling. Minho's eyes lit up with relief, and after a tense moment, the flame flickered and grew into a modest fire. Heat spread through the cave, offering a temporary reprieve from the brutal mountain's wind.

Margaret muttered something under her breath, clearly embarrassed but too tired to argue further.

The others clustered near the fire, trying to warm their freezing hands. The smell of smoke mixed with the crisp mountain air, filling the small cave with a sense of precarious safety.

I sank to the ground, rubbing my aching hands as I stared into the flickering flames. Meanwhile, Ezra took advantage of the moment to melt the snow he had collected.

The white boy knelt closer to the fire, carefully placing the small metal container he had scavenged from our supplies near the flames. He didn't put it directly into the fire, fearing the risk of cracking it, but balanced it just close enough for the heat to warm the metal.

He then began adding chunks of snow into the container, watching as the edges started to soften and drip. Slowly, the snow turned to water, steaming faintly as it met the heat radiating from the fire. Ezra used a small stick to stir the melting snow, ensuring that nothing clung to the sides and that every bit would eventually turn into liquid.

Within half an hour, the container held a modest amount of water, enough for a small ration for each of us.

Ezra finally set the stick aside and nodded slightly, satisfied with the results.

Around this time, Minho grabbed one of the filled containers with a shaky hand and greedily took several large gulps. For the first time in hours, it seemed some color had returned to his face.

He stretched his hand toward the bottle for another drink, but Ezra quickly swatted it away.

"Greedy bastard. Are you planning on finishing all the water we managed to collect?"

Disregarding his words, Minho tipped the bottle back again, emptying it completely.

"Do we even need to worry about water? Can't we just melt more snow?"

Ezra turned to Margaret, giving her a complicated look.

"It's not that simple. Yes, there's plenty of snow anywhere you look. The problem is we might not be able to make more fires in the future. Every fire we light risks drawing unwanted attention, if we even get the chance to light one at all."

No one spoke, silently acknowledging that his reasoning made sense.

The reality was harsh, but clear: resources were limited, and any mistake could cost us dearly. Even something as simple as a fire could lure something just as troublesome, or even more, than the Hollow Sentinel.

Who knew what other horrors were lurking within the mountain?

The cave was quiet now, save for the occasional crackle of the small fire and the soft drip of melting snow. After all, there was nothing to be said.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on all of us, and slowly, the group began to settle into uneasy positions along the rocky floor. Some leaned against the walls, others curled up near the fire, trying to soak in what little warmth it provided.

I pressed my palms to the heat, letting it seep into my frozen fingers, and glanced at the others. Margaret sat a little apart, her eyes fixed on the flames, lips moving in silent thought. Minho, now calmer but still restless, stared into the fire as though hypnotized by the swirling flames. And lastly, Ezra, ever vigilant, kept one eye on the cave entrance, the other scanning the mountains beyond.

The atmosphere of the group was like a fragile bridge swaying over a churning river.

The group had to avoid making any sudden movements, afraid of suddenly startling the other.

It was unavoidable.

Anyone suddenly dropped into a foreign land without food or water for days would inevitably be on edge. Tension was already high, especially with one of us having met a grim end.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the cave entrance, carrying a faint whistle that could make the hairs on one's body stand. Everyone stiffened.

"Probably just the wind," Minho muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

Outside, the crimson light of the setting sun had faded to a dull red, and shadows stretched like fingers across the mountainside. Somewhere in the distance, a low rumble rolled across the peaks: it was faint but noticable, nonetheless.

I smiled wearily. Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.

† †

The sun rose, casting away the darkness once more. As expected, I couldn't fall asleep, unlike the others who had been fortunate enough to rest.

Have you ever been so exhausted and tense that sleep simply wouldn't come? That was exactly my situation.

Looking down, I smiled and greeted my shadow.

"Good morning."

It didn't respond, standing there with an indifferent, unmoving posture.

My smile slowly faded.

So much for starting a conversation. I couldn't even manage a proper chat with my own shadow. Was it ignoring me all of a sudden?

'Well… time to wake the others.'

I stood up.

After a brief stretch, I scanned the cave and decided to wake Margaret first. Moving closer, I gently patted her shoulders and spoke in a weak, tentative voice.

"Hey, it's morning. Time to get up."

There was no response.

Was she a deep sleeper? I frowned and shook her shoulders with more force this time.

"Hey, wake up. Hello?"

Still nothing. Her body didn't move at all. Worse, it was unnaturally cold, even though the cave was warm from the fire.

'Wait… don't tell me…'

A shiver of dread erupted.

My hands trembled as I grabbed her shoulders and slowly turned her toward me. Up close, my worst fears were confirmed.

Her eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her skin had taken on a grayish pallor, sapped of the warmth and color it should have had. The faintest trickle of drool had dried at the corner of her mouth, and her body lay unnaturally stiff, as if every muscle had frozen in place.

The warmth of the fire had no effect on her; it seemed utterly incapable of reaching her now.

Her hands were curled loosely at her sides, motionless. The hair that framed her face fell in dark, limp strands, giving her a fragile, almost ethereal appearance that only amplified the horror.

She was dead.