Where the Mist Meets the Mountain

Previously

…“Then the mountain is at peace,” he said, his voice a whisper that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. “And so, perhaps, will you be.” He turned and melted back into the darkness from which he came, leaving me alone in the phosphorescent glow. The hum of the mountain was no longer a threat, but a lullaby. The treasure wasn’t something to be found, but something to be guarded. And in that quiet, luminous chamber, surrounded by the echoes of lives lived and lost, I felt a different kind of peace begin to settle, as comforting and as profound as the mist itself.