The cave had kept them alive through the night.
Kaelin woke to grey light filtering through the entrance and Beckett's beak inches from her face.
BECKETT: You snore.
"I don't snore."
BECKETT: You do. All three of you. It's like listening to a argument between a windstorm and a very angry teakettle.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: We do NOT snore.
IRIS: Incorrect. Vocal cord vibration during sleep cycles has been logged on 94% of nights. Snoring is confirmed.
MAMMON: TRAITOR.
AZRAEL: The machine is merely reporting facts. As machines do.
MAMMON: Whose side are you on?
AZRAEL: The side of accurate information.
MAMMON: That's not a side. That's just... being annoying with extra steps.
---
Outside, Kaelin stretched, checked her knives—still sharp, still there—and pulled dried meat from the bracelet. Beckett snatched half before hands could even close around it.
BECKETT: Payment for guard duty.
"You slept."
BECKETT: I slept with one eye open. That's crow for "I was working."
Kaelin chewed slowly, looking up at what waited.
The Grayfang Mountains.
Up close, they were everything the distance had promised and worse. Steep. Jagged. Rock and scree and cliffs that went up and up until they disappeared into low cloud. The trail—if you could call it that—was a thin scratch along the mountain's flank, barely wide enough for one person.
BECKETT: That looks terrible.
"Probably."
BECKETT: We should go back.
"We can't."
BECKETT: We can. Going back is always an option. It's a bad option, but it's an option. Crows believe in acknowledging all options before choosing the stupidest one.
Kaelin took a breath. Adjusted the belt with the knives. Touched the bracelet—100 cubic meters of supplies, of Gizmo's bricks, of everything they'd need.
"We go up."
BECKETT: sighing, somehow I knew you'd say that. Crows are also good at predicting bad decisions.
---
The first hour wasn't terrible.
The trail, such as it was, followed the contour of the mountain—rising gradually, switching through stands of stunted pine and patches of hardy scrub. Beckett flew ahead, scouting, calling back reports in a running commentary that Mammon found hilarious and Azrael found exhausting.
BECKETT: (from above) BIG ROCK. VERY BIG. IT'S STAYING STILL FOR NOW. I'LL LET YOU KNOW IF IT MOVES.
MAMMON: I LOVE HER.
AZRAEL: She's describing geology.
MAMMON: WITH PERSONALITY.
---
By the second hour, the trees had disappeared. Just rock now, and sky, and the increasingly sharp angle of the slope. Kaelin's legs burned. Her lungs burned. The air was thinner here, colder, each breath a conscious effort.
IRIS: Altitude: 1,847 meters above Thornwell baseline. Oxygen levels: 83% of normal. Physical stress: moderate. Recommended: rest every 45 minutes.
MAMMON: Rest? We just started.
AZRAEL: Three hours ago.
MAMMON: That's not—is it three hours?
IRIS: Three hours, fourteen minutes.
MAMMON: pause Okay, maybe rest.
---
They found a flat rock—mostly flat, anyway—and sat. Beckett landed nearby, head cocked, watching the slope above.
BECKETT: Something's wrong.
Kaelin was instantly alert. "What?"
BECKETT: I don't know. The mountain feels... awake. More awake than it should be.
---
[INSIDE]
IRIS: Beckett's sensory capabilities exceed normal corvid parameters. Her observation should be treated as potentially significant.
AZRAEL: The bird is anxious.
MAMMON: The bird is never anxious. The bird steals underwear and feels zero guilt.
IRIS: Pattern recognition: Beckett's previous accurate warnings (Foundry agent, night predators) correlate with elevated threat levels.
AZRAEL: We should move carefully.
MAMMON: We should move PERIOD. Sitting here waiting for something to happen is how things happen TO you.
---
Kaelin stood. Scanned the slope above. Nothing moved except wind-scattered dust and the occasional small stone tumbling down.
"Let's go. Slow. Quiet."
BECKETT: (quiet, for once) Good plan.
---
They climbed.
The trail narrowed further—less a path now and more a suggestion, rocks balanced on rocks, loose scree shifting under each step. Kaelin tested every foothold before committing weight. Elandril's training, buried deep, surfacing when needed.
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"Mountains don't forgive mistakes. They just collect the bodies."
Thanks, Dad.
---
The first sign came without warning.
A sound. Not loud—more like the mountain sighing. A deep, grinding exhale from somewhere above.
Kaelin froze.
BECKETT: (sharp) UP. LOOK UP.
Dust. Pouring over a ledge fifty meters above. And behind the dust, movement—rock waking up, deciding to travel.
MAMMON: OH NO.
AZRAEL: ROCKS!
IRIS: Rockslide. Epicenter: 52 meters above current position. Speed: accelerating. Time to impact: 17 seconds. Evasive action required.
---
Seventeen seconds.
Kaelin's body moved before thought—all three of them agreeing without debate. She ran. Not down—down was death, the slide would catch her before she cleared the first switchback. Up. Diagonal. Toward the edge of the slide's path, toward a rock outcropping that might—might—provide cover.
The mountain roared behind her.
BECKETT: FASTER. FASTER. FASTER.
MAMMON: RUN RUN RUN RUN—
AZRAEL: (praying) Please please please—
Rocks the size of her head bounced past. A chunk of stone clipped her shoulder, spun her half around. She kept going. Three more steps. Four. The outcropping—a slab of granite jutting from the slope like a shield.
Kaelin threw herself behind it.
And the world became noise.
---
The rockslide lasted thirty seconds. It felt like hours.
Boulders slammed into the outcropping—once, twice, three times. Debris sprayed over the top, pelting her back, her head, her arms wrapped tight around her skull. Dust filled everything—nose, mouth, lungs—choking, blinding, suffocating.
And then, silence.
Not complete silence—small stones still trickled past, dust still settled—but the roar was gone. The mountain had finished its tantrum.
BECKETT: (from somewhere above) ...Anyone alive down there?
Kaelin coughed. Tried to breathe. Coughed again.
"Define... alive."
BECKETT: Breathing. Moving. Not a pancake.
"I think... I think we're not a pancake."
MAMMON: weakly Best news all day.
---
[INSIDE]
IRIS: Vital signs: elevated but stable. Bruising detected on right shoulder, left hip, both knees. No fractures. No internal bleeding. Survival probability: 97% despite 14% rock impact probability.
AZRAEL: We're alive.
MAMMON: We're alive.
AZRAEL: We're alive.
MAMMON: Stop saying it like you're surprised.
AZRAEL: I am surprised. That was—that was—
MAMMON: Yeah. It was.
IRIS: Emotional observation: Azrael's protocol "gratitude for continued existence" is currently at maximum.
AZRAEL: quiet Thank you. Both of you. For moving when we needed to move.
MAMMON: even quieter Don't get sappy, angel. We almost died. Sappiness after near-death is mandatory, but still embarrassing.
---
Kaelin pushed herself up. The outcropping had done its job—behind it, the slope was mostly clear. Ahead, where the trail had been... gone. Buried under tons of rock.
BECKETT: (landing on the outcropping) Path's gone.
"I see that."
BECKETT: You're going to have to go around. Up and over that ridge, then back down. Adds maybe an hour. Maybe more.
"Better than going back."
BECKETT: nodding That's the spirit. Also, there's something else.
Kaelin looked up sharply. "What?"
BECKETT: Smell. Blood. Fresh. Something died in the slide. Or something was here before the slide and didn't get out in time.
---
The smell hit a moment later—copper and meat and something beneath it. Coming from the other side of the outcropping, where the rocks had piled deepest.
MAMMON: Fresh meat?
AZRAEL: Mammon.
MAMMON: What? We might need supplies. The bracelet has food, but fresh is fresh.
IRIS: Mammon's logic is functionally sound. However, caution advised. Unknown what created the—
A growl.
Low. Deep. Coming from somewhere in the rock pile.
---
[INSIDE]
IRIS: —threat.
MAMMON: WHAT WAS THAT?
AZRAEL: Something alive.
IRIS: Something large. Vocalization frequency: 40-60 Hz. Consistent with ursine or large feline predators.
---
The rocks shifted.
Kaelin's hands found her knives—both of them, drawn in the same motion, the weight familiar now, comforting.
BECKETT: (taking flight) Big thing. Very big thing. Coming out of the rocks. I'm going to be up here. Observing. Strategically.
"Coward."
BECKETT: Survivor. Different thing.
---
The rocks exploded outward.
Not literally—but close. A mountain cat exploded from the rubble, easily twice Kaelin's size, fur matted with blood from a gash on its flank. The slide had caught it, wounded it, trapped it—and now it was free and very, very angry.
Yellow eyes locked onto Kaelin.
MAMMON: OKAY. OKAY. BIG CAT. WE CAN HANDLE BIG CAT.
AZRAEL: It's wounded. Wounded animals are dangerous.
IRIS: Wounded animals are desperate. Desperation increases aggression by 340%.
MAMMON: THANK YOU FOR THAT, IRIS. VERY HELPFUL.
---
The cat lunged.
Kaelin moved—Elandril's training, Ghoran's drills, all of it flowing through three minds focused on one goal: survive.
She dodged left. The cat's claws raked air where she'd been. She rolled, came up with both knives ready, and the cat was already turning, already coming again.
BECKETT: (from above) LEFT. IT'S FAVORING THE RIGHT SIDE. THE WOUND.
The cat lunged again. Kaelin went right this time—toward the wounded side—and one knife found the spot, slicing along ribs. Not deep, but enough. The cat screamed, twisted, and its paw caught her shoulder, sent her sprawling.
Rocks. Blood. The cat above her, jaws open, breath hot and rank.
MAMMON: STAB IT. STAB IT NOW.
AZRAEL: I CAN'T—THE ANGLE—
IRIS: Rotate 23 degrees left. Extend right arm. Strike upward.
Kaelin's body obeyed without thought. The knife went up—into the cat's throat, soft tissue, hot blood pouring over her hand.
The cat made a sound. Not a scream—something wetter, quieter. Then it was heavy, so heavy, collapsing onto her, pinning her to the rocks.
---
Silence.
Then Beckett's voice, very close: "You killed it. The thing is dead. Can you breathe under the thing?"
Kaelin tried to move. The cat was... a lot. A lot of weight. A lot of warm.
MAMMON: We killed it.
AZRAEL: We killed it.
MAMMON: WE killed it. Together. The knives worked. The training worked. We worked.
IRIS: Combat effectiveness: 89%. Fatal blow delivered at optimal angle. Survival confirmed.
AZRAEL: breathing hard We're alive.
MAMMON: Stop saying that.
AZRAEL: I'm going to keep saying it until I believe it.
---
BECKETT: (landing on the cat's flank) So. That happened. Congratulations. You're now a mountain cat killer. Very impressive. Very dangerous. Very... heavy, I assume, since you're still under it.
"Little help?"
BECKETT: I'm a crow. I weigh 400 grams. I can't help. But I can offer emotional support. You're doing great. The cat is not doing great. The cat is dead. That's the important thing.
---
It took ten minutes to get free.
Kaelin pushed, pulled, squirmed, and finally rolled the cat enough to slide out from under it. She stood—wobbly, covered in blood (some hers, mostly the cat's), breathing hard.
The cat lay still. Big. Grey fur, darker stripes, claws the length of her fingers.
IRIS: Species: Grayfang Mountain Cat. Adult female. Weight: approximately 120 kilograms. Status: deceased.
MAMMON: We killed a 120-kilogram cat.
AZRAEL: With knives.
MAMMON: We're EIGHT.
IRIS: Age confirmed. Achievement noted.
---
BECKETT: So. Are we eating it, or are we leaving it for the next thing to eat?
Kaelin stared at the cat. At the blood on her hands. At the knives still clutched in both fists.
MAMMON: Eat it. Definitely eat it. That's... that's a lot of meat. Fresh meat. Mountain cat meat. Probably tastes like victory.
AZRAEL: We should... we should use it. All of it. The cat didn't choose to attack us. It was wounded. Desperate. But it's dead now, and wasting it would be—
MAMMON: Disrespectful?
AZRAEL: I was going to say inefficient, but yes. Disrespectful works.
---
Kaelin looked at Beckett. "How long do we have before dark?"
BECKETT: Four hours. Maybe five.
"Can you watch for more slides? More cats?"
BECKETT: I can watch for everything. Watching is what I do. Also judging, but that's separate.
---
Kaelin reached into the bracelet.
Out came tools—Gizmo's tools, scavenged from the workshop, packed because "you never know when you need to skin something, probably." Out came rope. Out came empty containers, because the bracelet had 100 cubic meters and IRIS was very organized.
IRIS: Retrieving survival manual: "Field Dressing Large Game." Accessing Ghoran's verbal instructions. Cross-referencing with Lycos's observed behavior.
MAMMON: The wolf taught us how to do this?
IRIS: Indirectly. Wolves eat prey. We watched Lycos eat prey. The process is observable.
AZRAEL: This is going to be disgusting.
MAMMON: This is going to be GLORIOUS.
---
It took three hours.
Three hours of cutting, pulling, separating. Three hours of blood and viscera and Mammon's running commentary ("LOOK AT THAT INTESTINE. THAT'S A VERY NICE INTESTINE.") and Azrael's strained silence and IRIS's clinical instructions ("Incision should follow the midline. Deeper. No, that's too deep—there, correct.").
Beckett, to her credit, helped. She couldn't carry much, but she could spot details—places where the knife should go, layers of tissue that needed separating. And she could eat the bits Kaelin couldn't use, which she did with enthusiasm.
BECKETT: (mouth full) This is the best day.
"You're eating raw cat."
BECKETT: I'm eating FRESH cat. There's a difference. Also, you should try it. Builds character.
"I'll stick to cooking mine."
BECKETT: Weakness.
---
By the end, they had:
· Meat. So much meat. Wrapped in oiled cloth, stored in the bracelet, enough for weeks.
· Hide. One mountain cat pelt, roughly removed, will need proper tanning but usable.
· Claws. Twelve of them, each the length of Kaelin's middle finger. IRIS suggested they might be valuable—trading, maybe, or crafting.
· Teeth. The canines, four of them, because Mammon insisted ("TEETH ARE COOL. TEETH ARE ALWAYS COOL.").
· Bones. Selected ones, the ones IRIS identified as useful for tools or weapons.
IRIS: Inventory updated. Spatial bracelet capacity remaining: 97.3 cubic meters. Cat parts: 2.7 cubic meters. Meat alone will provide 34-40 days of protein.
MAMMON: We're rich. We're mountain cat rich.
AZRAEL: We're bloody. We're exhausted. We still have to climb.
MAMMON: And rich. Don't forget rich.
---
The sun was low now, shadows long, the mountain painted in gold and orange.
They'd climbed higher during the skinning—not by choice, but because the trail, such as it was, continued upward. The cat had died at approximately 2,100 meters. Now, after three hours of work and another hour of climbing, they were close to 2,400.
And that's when Kaelin saw it.
The view opened suddenly—the ridge they'd been climbing toward gave way to a wider vista, mountains stretching in all directions, peaks upon peaks upon peaks.
And among them, one that didn't belong.
---
BECKETT: (from above) ...That's weird.
Kaelin stared.
All the peaks around them were snow-capped. White and grey and ice, the way mountains were supposed to look. But one—maybe fifteen kilometers east, rising above the others—had no snow. None. Just bare rock, dark stone, and something that shimmered in the dying light.
AZRAEL: That's...
MAMMON: That's where we're going.
IRIS: Thermal anomaly detected. Peak elevation: approximately 3,400 meters. Snow line in this region: 2,800 meters. The absence of snow indicates internal heat source.
BECKETT: (landing on a rock) Volcano?
IRIS: Possible. Or geothermal activity. Or—
MAMMON: Or magic. Say it.
IRIS: Or magic. The Order of the Burning Blades is described as a sword sect. Swords and fire are thematically linked.
AZRAEL: The Burning Blades. Burning. Heat. No snow.
MAMMON: We're going to a volcano fortress. We're going to a VOLCANO FORTRESS.
BECKETT: Volcano fortress. With sword people. Who are probably very serious and very stabby.
MAMMON: I LOVE IT.
---
Kaelin couldn't look away.
The peak rose against the darkening sky, bare and bold and somehow welcoming. A place that didn't hide. A place that burned openly, defiantly, in the middle of all this ice and snow.
Like her. Like them.
IRIS: Hypothesis: The Order chose this location deliberately. Heat from the mountain provides natural defense, forge capabilities, and symbolic resonance. Fire transforms. Fire forges. Fire—
MAMMON: Burns. Don't forget burns.
IRIS: Burns. Yes. That too.
---
BECKETT: So. Tomorrow we climb toward the volcano. Tonight we find shelter and eat some of that very large cat you murdered.
"We didn't murder it. It attacked us."
BECKETT: Semantics. Also, correct. Also, I don't care. Meat is meat.
---
They found shelter in a crevice—a split in the rock face, deep enough for two, narrow enough to block the wind. Kaelin crawled in, Beckett behind her, and for the first time since the rockslide, let herself breathe.
MAMMON: We did that.
AZRAEL: We did.
MAMMON: The rockslide. The cat. The... the skinning. All of it.
AZRAEL: We worked together.
MAMMON: We worked together and didn't argue.
AZRAEL: We argued a little.
MAMMON: A little. But then we stopped and did the thing.
IRIS: Coordination efficiency during combat: 89%. During skinning: 76%. Improvement from previous baseline: 23%.
MAMMON: We're getting better at this.
AZRAEL: We're getting better at being us.
MAMMON: pause That's... yeah. That's exactly it.
---
Outside, the wind picked up. Inside, Kaelin pulled the cat pelt over herself—still raw, still smelling of blood, but warm.
BECKETT: (tucked against her side) You know what tomorrow is?
"Another day of climbing."
BECKETT: Another day of climbing toward a volcano fortress. Where sword people live. Who might take us in. Who might train us. Who might actually be the first people since Ghoran to look at you and not run.
Kaelin was quiet for a long moment.
MAMMON: very soft That would be nice.
AZRAEL: That would be more than nice.
IRIS: That would be... hope.
---
BECKETT: (already half asleep) Hope is heavy. Like a dead cat. But better smelling. Probably.
Kaelin laughed—quiet, tired, real.
"Go to sleep, Beckett."
BECKETT: Already sleeping. This is dream commentary. Very advanced.
---
The mountain held its breath around them.
And eight kilometers away—fifteen kilometers, but visible even in darkness—the bare peak burned on, waiting.
