Where the Mist Meets the Mountain

Previously

…He melted back into the fog, as if he were a part of it, leaving me alone once more in the oppressive silence. The only sound was the frantic thumping of my own heart, and the faint, metallic coolness of my father’s locket against my skin. Thorne’s words echoed in my mind: The mountain’s true treasure is not gold. It is peace. Peace. Was that what my father had truly sought? And what had he done to find it? The mist, once a chilling shroud, now felt like a heavy blanket, pressing down, holding me captive with its secrets. I was deeper in than ever, and the path ahead, shrouded in white, was more uncertain than I could have ever imagined.