1 Rising Flames of the Azure Peaks
Embers of willpower flickered in the caverns of his sinewy form, his calloused digits gnawing into the hardy cliff, searching for a tangible hold amidst the raw rocks. The name 'Cauldwell' echoed in the hollow spaces between each ragged breath. His piercing gaze darted upwards.
The next ledge was tantalizingly close – a mere three feet away. Despite the tormenting stretch, it promised refuge. A moment's respite was worth the gruelling climb.
Summoning his inner strength, he inhaled deeply, amassing an enigmatic energy within his core. The warmth pulsed, emanating from his sternum. Like a placid stream coursing through a serene Zen garden, the power gradually channelled itself into his trembling fingers and weather-beaten soles. He exhaled, a slow and deliberate expulsion of air that steadied his spirit.
Lifting his eyes once more, he envisioned not just his immediate destination but the entire journey. The dazzling rays of sunlight glimmering over the cliff's edge crafted a path – a celestial trail leading to the zenith.
Grasping a craggy rock, he hoisted his weary body, seizing another protrusion for added support. His movements, though laborious, gained momentum, unimpeded by the intimidating verticality of the mountainside.
Finally, his trembling fingers reached the ledge. Securing a sturdy grip, he dragged himself onto the icy surface, his body merging with the frosty snow. The biting wind sliced through his being, peppering his rugged face with needle-sharp snowflakes.
With a quick motion, Cauldwell rolled onto his knees, burying his face into the warmth of his black and red jacket's hood. He quipped about the questionable choice of attire, before cautiously rising to his feet.
Against the stinging snow, he squinted, his hand serving as a makeshift shield. Amongst the whiteout, the desolate remnants of the Old Monastery of Amrita stood firm – a monolith against the elements.
* * * * * * * * * *
Entering the ancient edifice, Cauldwell pushed against the resistant wooden doors. They slammed shut behind him, temporarily keeping the harsh climate at bay.
Sparse rays of light trickled from the upper passageways, barely piercing the tomb-like darkness. Cauldwell projected his open palm ahead, focusing his internal energy. The familiar warmth cascaded outward, dancing between forceful surges and gentle ebbs. As his eyes fluttered open, an ethereal flame flickered above his palm. One swift motion later, the fire blazed, illuminating the monastery with the torches it found along its path.
His keen gaze scanned the ancient engravings etched into the stone, symbols lost to most, but to Cauldwell, they were as familiar as his own reflection. Suddenly, a wooden arrow zipped through the air, grazing his cheek and leaving a tiny cut. The silent confrontation had begun.
Cauldwell's reflexes kicked in as he spun around, catching an incoming arrow mid-flight and returning it with equal velocity. The arrow barely missed the shadowy figure revealed by the torchlight – another combatant, an archer clad in a similar ensemble.
Her wooden bow groaned under the strain as she unleashed another arrow. But before the projectile could claim its target, a booming voice echoed within the stone walls, "ENOUGH!" The verbal onslaught shattered the arrow mid-air, causing both combatants to direct their attention to the source – an aged Monk suspended in the rafters.
Presumably there for the Flames of Rebirth, the Monk descended as if levitating, establishing himself as the mediator amidst the fiery rivals. "An eagerness to take a life, will ultimately rob you of yours," he advised the young woman.
The woman, now revealed as an Archer, lowered her weapon and unveiled her face. Her quest for the Flames seemed paramount. However, the Monk insisted they ascend the mountain further for the holy anointment.
He offered Cauldwell a piece of cloth for his minor wound, advising him of the beasts that were drawn to the scent of blood. Having imparted his wisdom, the Monk vanished into a glowing, runic circle.
With the monk's departure, a tense silence filled the air. Cauldwell secured the cloth as the Archer threw her hood back up and made her exit with a threat hanging in the air. Once again, Cauldwell found himself enveloped in solitude.
