I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
The whereabouts of the basilisk were entirely unknown, yet the villagers assured us it found any who wandered too close to the mountains. We traveled at a pace Soltair and Trithe felt cautious and slow, but as the terrain turned rugged, I found myself flagging behind. Large monolithic towers of rock broke the dense forests, gradually building toward the shattered peaks looming high above.
As the sun reached its zenith we successfully penetrated the foothills and began our climb up the jagged mountain roots, sticking to the winding canyons and valleys. The game trail we followed was thin and wild, occasionally vanishing into the underbrush for some time before suddenly reappearing. I stumbled several times, clinging to my staff for balance as much as the reassuring comfort of my hand on its familiar glassy shaft.
At some point, Soltair stopped and raised his hand, scanning the rising terrain on either side of the valley. "We're no longer alone."