Chapter 4 #2
My breath was ragged now, fogging in front of me in short bursts as the cold came back harsher. My skin felt brittle, my sweater was worthless. Teeth chattering, I bent to retrieve my camera and stood up, wiping it gently, checking for cracks—
“Don’t tread any further.”
“FUCK!” The camera slipped through my hands again, clattering onto the rocks. I jerked my head up, heartbeat slamming like a war drum. “The fuck is wrong with you?” My half-scared, half-angry scream sliced through the air, bouncing off the walls of stone like a ricochet.
My eyes clashed with the source.
He was standing to the left above me, on the edge of a boulder jutting out, far too high for any normal person to have climbed.
Black coat flared slightly in the wind, gloved hands folding across his chest like he wasn’t standing on the edge of a damn cliff.
One brow arched lazily, his head tilted in response to my scream, and I swore, if disdain could be sculpted into bone, it would look like him.
My breath stalled.
Tall—even from this angle. Sharp jaw, face colder than the wind.
His long hair was dark as night, tousled and brushing the end of his thick collar.
Every inch of him was covered in black like he was cosplaying death, telling me he could also feel the cold that was freezing my brain off.
His dark eyes pierced hard, as if he could see through me, and didn’t particularly like what he saw.
He was breathtaking. In a brutal, arrogant, inhuman kind of way.
I couldn’t stop staring. Not until I remembered he’d made me yelp like a child. Twice.
And I had dropped my camera twice.
My fingers curled into fists. Gritting my teeth, I reached down, grabbed the camera without even checking if it still worked, and walked off. Flat-out ignored his entire existence.
Five steps later, a small stone struck my arm before bouncing off and tumbling down the slope. It wasn't thrown hard, but it was intentional. I whipped around so fast I felt my neck pop.
He still hadn’t moved. Not an inch. Still standing high on that ledge. The wind tugged gently at the hem of his coat, but he stood too still for someone who should be freezing. With his arms now hanging by his sides, black-gloved hands relaxed, watching me with that same expression on his face.
Not angry. Not curious. Not even amused.
Just that cold, detached boredom, as if he was trying to grasp something—me—uninteresting.
“Are you fucking lost?” I shouted up at him. “Do you need help or something?”
He didn’t move. His brow twitched, barely, like maybe my voice was mildly offensive to his ears. That was all the reaction I got.
“Gods,” I muttered, adjusting my backpack, yanking the strap tighter over my shoulder. My glare broke from his, and I turned back around with more purpose than before, even though I still had no clue how far I would walk.
I had a new mission. That mission was “anywhere but near that...guy.”
I didn’t get far.
“Are you brave,” his voice called out, “or just stupid enough not to recognise danger when it’s staring you in the face?”
I laughed under my breath. The type of laugh when you already knew you were an idiot and didn’t need anyone else to remind you.
“Are you the guardian spirit here or just a cryptid trying to scare me away?”
I didn’t stop walking as I said it. I didn’t even look at him. My pride had taken enough hits today. His presence felt like ice on my neck, but I pushed on.
He didn’t respond. And I didn’t turn to see if he was still there. I didn’t care. I told myself I didn’t. But I felt him watching.
I could be possibly delusional as well.
Eventually, the wind picked up. The deeper I went, the more merciless the cold became. It taloned at my clothes, my gloves, and my breath. After thirty more minutes of pushing forward, I had to admit something to myself—something I’d never wanted to say.
I wasn’t going to make it.
Not like this.
My eyelids were stiff. Stiff. I could feel the frost building on my lashes, dragging them down. My fingers had long since gone numb. My legs were shuddering beneath me from the raw, inescapable cold that had made a home in my bones.
I blinked hard, staggered a step, and reached out for something. Nothing was there. Just endless stone and wind that hissed like it was laughing at me.
I fell at some point.
Maybe twice. Once on my side, once on my knees. My hands didn’t catch me. They didn’t do anything
The Crater had turned on me. Or maybe it always had been this cruel, and I’d just been too stubborn to see it.
I wasn’t even close to the stone shelter yet. I couldn’t tell how much farther it was—I could barely see straight. My joints were stiff, my thoughts foggy. It was like my blood had frozen inside me, making every movement heavy.
I had to turn back.
If I didn’t, the cold would kill me before anything else did.
Promising myself I’d return—better prepared, better dressed, because there was no way I was giving up like this, I turned back, teeth clattering so hard they hurt.
My steps were uneven, my boots sliding on the frozen rocks as I tried to retrace them.
But everything looked different now. It was colder, greyer, and unfamiliar.
I kept moving. But I was swaying, staggering, and falling.
Everything after that blurred.
I had no idea how I got back to the mouth of The Crater.
No idea how I made it past the sign, or how I found enough strength to call the driver.
The memory splintered in flashes—fingers on my phone, a voice I didn’t remember using, the blurred shape of a car pulling up, the road, and everything in between.
The next thing I remembered clearly was my bed.
I was wrapped in every blanket I owned. My boots still on, my clothes half-frozen, my face stinging with heat as it returned in waves.
It felt like being drunk; my body wanted to shut down but my mind kept flickering back on for seconds at a time, just long enough to remember where I was.
I must’ve fallen asleep in the evening and slept through the night. Because when I finally opened my eyes again, sunlight was slipping through my curtains.
It was afternoon. The next damn day.