Page 12

T he entrance to Wind Shear Pass wasn't a grand gateway, just a jagged tear in the mountain's flank, a narrow cleft barely wide enough for two people to squeeze through side-by-side. But stepping into it was like stepping into the heart of a storm.

The wind didn't just howl; it screamed, a high-pitched, tearing sound that vibrated through the rock underfoot and seemed to claw directly at my skull, bypassing the sorb-moss in my ears entirely. Loose grit and ice crystals blasted against my exposed face, stinging like needles.

The air tasted thin and sharp, devoid of any scent but cold stone and violence.

Beside me, Iros braced himself instinctively, his larger body absorbing the initial impact of the gale. Nirako, just behind us, pressed himself flat against the rock wall, his expression grim.

The relative quiet of the ascent was shattered, replaced by a deafening, disorienting roar.

My markings flared instantly, not with the localized ache of the ruins' dissonance, but with an overwhelming flood of raw, chaotic energy.

The wind wasn't just moving air; it was a physical force made visible to my senses, a swirling vortex of angry reds and oranges that filled the narrow passage ahead.

Jagged lines of intense pressure slammed against the rock walls, shearing off small fragments, while unpredictable eddies of turbulence spun like malevolent spirits in the churning air.

"Can you see a path?" Iros shouted, his voice barely audible over the wind's shriek. He had turned towards me, his golden eyes narrowed against the stinging debris, his body a solid anchor against the gale trying to rip us from the narrow ledge.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to filter the overwhelming visual noise, focusing inward, drawing on the techniques Mateha had begun teaching me. Find the silence within the sound. Find the harmony within the chaos.

Easier said than done when the chaos felt like a physical assault threatening to tear my senses apart. I focused on Iros beside me, a point of calm solidity in the raging storm. Anchor to me, his presence seemed to project, a wave of reassurance flowing through our connection.

Taking a ragged breath, I opened my eyes again, forcing myself to look through the chaotic red and orange static, searching for the subtle counter-patterns Mateha had described -- the flows of less violent energy, the brief lulls, the transient pockets of relative stability.

They were there, fleeting glimpses of cooler blue and green weaving through the maelstrom, paths that existed for only moments before being swallowed by the surrounding fury.

"Yes," I yelled back, my voice thin against the wind. "But it shifts constantly! We have to move now , follow my lead exactly!"

There was no time for hesitation, no room for doubt.

I took the lead perceptually, my body pressed tight against the inner rock wall.

Iros moved immediately behind me, his hand finding my waist, a firm, grounding pressure that was both practical support and an intensely personal anchor.

The pressure sent a jolt through me—startling, stabilizing.

For one impossible heartbeat, I didn’t feel afraid. I felt chosen.

Nirako followed Iros, his earlier skepticism seemingly forgotten in the face of the immediate, overwhelming danger.

"Left!" I shouted, spotting a brief channel of calmer blue energy opening along the rock face. "Step where I step!"

We shuffled sideways, boots scraping on the narrow ledge, the wind tearing at our clothes, trying to pry us loose. The blue channel held for three steps, then dissolved back into swirling orange chaos just as my foot found solid purchase.

"Hold!" I yelled, bracing myself as a particularly vicious gust slammed into us. I felt Iros shift behind me, his body taking the brunt of the force, his arm tightening around my waist, pinning me securely against the rock and himself.

His warmth seeped through my layers, a stark contrast to the biting cold of the wind, the solid reality of him a shield against the invisible forces trying to tear us apart. The contact, born of pure necessity, sent an illicit thrill through me, a spark of heat amidst the icy fear.

For a heartbeat, the roar of the wind faded, replaced by the thunder of my own pulse, the overwhelming awareness of his body pressed against mine.

Then the gust passed, leaving a momentary, relative calm. "Okay! Forward three paces! Quick!" A narrow ribbon of green stability opened directly ahead.

We moved, synchronized, trusting my perception, trusting his strength. It was a terrifying dance on the edge of oblivion. My senses strained, visualizing the shifting energy patterns, calling out directions fractions of a second before the path changed.

My throat grew raw from shouting over the wind. My skin stung with the constant effort, a low-level ache building behind my eyes.

Iros was magnificent. He moved with a fluid power, reacting instantly to my guidance, his strength unwavering. His hand never left my waist, a constant point of contact, a conduit for the steady reassurance flowing between us.

He anticipated my stumbles, compensated for my lesser strength, his presence a bulwark against the storm. I had never felt so vulnerable, yet paradoxically, so completely safe within his immediate orbit.

We navigated around a sharp bend where the wind seemed to concentrate its fury, slamming against the rock in violent, unpredictable bursts. The ledge narrowed further here, barely wide enough for one boot at a time.

"Careful!" I gasped, visualizing a particularly nasty shear-line of red energy slicing down from above. "Low! Stay low!"

We crouched, inching forward, the wind screaming over our heads. Small rocks dislodged by the blast skittered past, missing us by inches. I felt Iros's breath warm against my ear as he leaned closer, his lips almost touching my hood.

"Almost through this section," he murmured, his voice a low vibration against the wind's roar, felt as much as heard.

Emerging from the narrowest point, the path widened slightly, offering a brief respite. We paused, leaning heavily against the rock face, catching our breath.

Nirako came up beside us, his face grim, dusted with ice crystals. He looked at me, then at Iros, then back at the howling chaos we had just navigated. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable -- grudging respect, perhaps even awe.

But the respite was short-lived. Ahead, the Pass opened onto a wider, exposed saddle connecting two peaks. Here, the wind had full reign, swirling in massive, complex patterns.

And directly across the saddle, perhaps fifty paces away, glinted the objective -- a smooth, sun-bleached stone pillar, the Sunstone Marker.

"The final crossing," Iros stated, his gaze fixed on the marker, assessing the swirling chaos between us and it.

"The patterns here are... bigger," I said, scanning the saddle, my visualization showing vast, slow-moving rivers of red interspersed with treacherous, spinning vortexes of orange. The pockets of blue-green stability were smaller, less frequent, and moved faster.

"More powerful. We have to time it perfectly."

"Guide us," Iros said simply, his trust absolute.

We started across the saddle, moving in short, calculated bursts from one fleeting zone of stability to the next. It required even more intense concentration, predicting the movement of the energy flows, judging the timing.

Twice, we had to drop flat as massive waves of wind energy roared overhead. Iros's strength was crucial, pulling me bodily into cover behind rock outcrops just before the worst hit.

We were halfway across, exposed, moving towards a small island of blue calm I'd spotted, when I saw it. A vast, spiraling vortex of incandescent orange energy forming rapidly to our left, sucking the surrounding air currents into itself, growing with terrifying speed.

It wasn't just a gust; it felt like a localized tornado, a focused manifestation of the Pass's fury.

"Iros! Vortex! Left!" I screamed, sheer terror lending power to my voice.

There wasn't any time for finesse, no time to find cover. The vortex was expanding too fast, its outer edges already tearing at us, threatening to lift us from our feet.

Iros reacted instantly. With a guttural roar that was momentarily louder than the wind, he lunged, not away, but towards the nearest solid anchor -- a low, jagged outcrop of rock protruding from the saddle floor.

He tackled me low, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me down with him, shielding my body with his own as he slammed us both against the lee side of the rock just as the full force of the vortex hit.

His tail whipped briefly in the gale before pressing hard against the stone, anchoring us against the vortex's pull.

The world dissolved into a maelstrom of roaring wind, stinging ice, and blinding pressure. I clung to Iros, burying my face against his chest, feeling the incredible strength in his arms as he held us fast against the rock, his muscles straining.

The rock itself seemed to vibrate under the assault. I felt the vortex trying to rip us away, felt the terrifying suction pulling at my limbs, felt Iros's body absorbing the impacts of flying debris.

It seemed to last an eternity, but was likely only seconds. Then, as suddenly as it had formed, the vortex spun past, its roar receding slightly as it moved across the saddle. The immediate pressure lessened.

We lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, pinned against the rock. Iros slowly eased his grip, pushing himself up slightly, scanning the area. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice rough, strained.

"Yes," I choked out, pulling air into my burning lungs. "You?"

"Intact," he confirmed, though I felt the deep ache in his strained muscles. He looked towards the Sunstone Marker, now only twenty paces away across relatively clear ground. "The path is open. Let's finish this."

He helped me up, his hand lingering on my arm for a moment longer than necessary, his golden eyes searching mine, conveying a depth of shared experience that needed no words.

My breath caught, not from the climb or the cold, but from the way he looked at me.

Like I wasn’t just safe—I was his to protect.

We covered the remaining distance quickly, the wind still strong but lacking the focused violence of the vortex.

We reached the Sunstone Marker, collapsing against its smooth, surprisingly warm surface. It stood alone on the windswept ridge, a silent testament to countless Aerie Kin who had passed this way before.

We had made it. Exhausted, battered, but alive.

Moments later, Nirako arrived, stumbling the last few steps, his face pale beneath its usual stoicism. He leaned heavily against the marker, breathing hard, his gaze fixed on us.

The suspicion was entirely gone, replaced by something that looked remarkably like disbelief, and perhaps, finally, respect. We had passed Zaltana's trial. Together.