The light didn't fade gradually.
In the Ashen Mountains, the sun simply vanished behind the heavy, swirling vortex of clouds, plunging the world into a freezing, gray twilight.
With the darkness came a cold that bit through leather and wool.
Daniel's fingers were so numb he could barely feel the grip of his sword.
Beside him, Lily was shivering.
She tried to hide it, keeping her arms crossed tightly over her chest, but her teeth clicked together in the quiet.
"There," Daniel said, pointing toward a jagged cleft in the rock face.
It was a narrow opening, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through.
But it was shelter.
Daniel went in first, his blade drawn, his boots kicking aside loose shards of shale.
Inside, the air was stagnant and smelled of old dust.
It was dry.
More importantly, it shielded them from the biting wind.
Lily slid in after him, letting out a long, shaky breath as she collapsed against the stone wall.
"We can't light a fire," she whispered. Her voice sounded hollow in the small space. "The smoke will draw them. The light will draw them."
"I know," Daniel said.
He sat opposite her, his back against the cold cave wall.
He reached into his pack and pulled out the leather-bound canteen Bill had given him.
The vervain wine.
He unscrewed the cap. A sharp, medicinal scent filled the narrow cave, cutting through the smell of dust.
He handed it to Lily.
"Drink," he said. "It'll warm your blood."
She took it without argument.
She took a small sip, immediately coughing as the burning liquid hit her throat. A faint color returned to her pale cheeks.
"Tastes like ash," she muttered, handing it back.
"It keeps you alive," Daniel replied.
He took a drink himself. It burned all the way down, radiating a artificial heat through his chest.
In the silence of the cave, the weight of their journey seemed to press down heavier.
They were days away from the academy.
Days away from anyone who knew their names.
"Do you think he's really up here?" Lily asked softly.
Her eyes were fixed on the dirt between them.
"Finn Foster," she continued. "To survive in a place like this... alone. For years. What does that do to a person?"
Daniel stared at the dark entrance of the cave.
"It changes them," he said. "Or it hollows them out. Just like the mountains."
"If we find him... and he's not the man the academy remembers?"
Daniel didn't answer.
He knew the truth.
The Ghost Killers didn't send students on rescue missions. They sent them on cleanup operations.
If Finn Foster was still alive, he was either a savior, or the most dangerous entity in these mountains.
Hours passed in a freezing, restless silence.
Daniel closed his eyes, but sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford. Every muscle in his body was tense, listening to the mountain.
Outside, the wind began to howl, a high-pitched shriek that sounded like a chorus of dying men.
Then, the temperature inside the cave dropped.
It happened in an instant.
The air grew so cold that the moisture on the stone walls turned to white frost.
Daniel's eyes snapped open.
Beside him, Lily was already awake, her hand on her hilt.
A soft, scratching sound echoed from the very back of the cave.
It wasn't coming from the entrance.
It was coming from the darkness deeper inside.
Daniel rose slowly, keeping his boots silent on the stone.
He drew his blade. The metal ring felt incredibly loud in the confined space.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glow-stone, crushing it in his palm.
A pale, greenish light flooded the cavern.
The cave didn't end where they had stopped.
It sloped downward, into a deeper, wider chamber.
Daniel stepped forward, Lily close behind him, her blade ready.
As the green light illuminated the chamber, they both froze.
It wasn't a natural cave.
The walls had been carved.
And in the center of the chamber, sitting on a throne of black, jagged rock, was a skeleton.
It wore the heavy, armored cloak of a high-ranking Ghost Killer.
But it wasn't the skeleton that made Daniel's heart stop.
It was what was written on the wall behind it, carved deep into the stone with what looked like bare fingernails.
Over and over, the same words were scratched into the rock:
HE IS NOT HIDING. HE IS THE MOUNTAIN.