Where the Mist Meets the Mountain

Previously

…This was no mere legend. This was real. The treasure, whatever it was, was guarded, fiercely. And the guardian was a silent, shadowy figure that moved with the mist itself. My father’s quest had led him into dangerous territory, and it seemed it had led me there too. The grief was still a heavy cloak, but now, a new layer of fear, sharp and urgent, was beginning to weave its way through it. I was no longer just a man haunted by his past; I was a man being hunted in the present. And the mountain, cloaked in its perpetual mist, held its breath, waiting.