Chapter Thirty-Two
“Oh, thank the Gods,” I breathe, my hands flying to his cheeks, needing the solid warmth of him beneath my palms.
He’s alive.
I chose right.
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost give out, and all I can do is hold him tightly.
Ryder leans into my touch, eyes dark and searching, like he’s seeing me—really seeing me—for the first time since we set foot in this place. “I’m sorry for what I said. You know I didn’t mean any of it—”
But before I can finish, a low creaking rolls through the forest, followed by a tremor that rattles the ground beneath us.
The trees shudder, then slowly pull apart, bending away as though obeying some ancient command.
The forest opens its ribs and reveals a narrow path—one that leads straight to the bridge Ziek warned us about.
Sunlight spills through the break in the canopy, brushing across my skin.
It feels like water after a long drought, soaking into me, warming me.
But the sight of the sun makes my stomach twist. Its glow is thin, washed-out…
a tired version of the brilliance I remember.
As if even the sky is running out of strength.
The bridge waits ahead—long, narrow, and suspended over a cavernous drop that swallows sound and light alike.
“I can’t believe it!” River exclaims, lifting his face to the open sky, arms spread wide as though he could scoop the sunlight right out of the air. “We made it… We actually made it!”
“You might not want to start your victory dance just yet,” I say, swallowing hard as my gaze drifts to the shadow looming beyond the bridge. His gaze follows mine.
Mourn Peak.
It rises so high my eyes can’t track its full height; the summit vanishes into a ring of clinging clouds.
The entire mountain seems to absorb the light instead of reflecting it, its surface dark and glassy—like it’s carved from obsidian, polished by centuries of storms. A cold shiver scratches down my spine.
Something is watching in that darkness. Something is waiting.
My steps are more hesitant than relieved, Oriah’s warning looping through my mind like a curse: Mourn Peak will deceive you.
When we reach the bridge, the full horror of it settles in my stomach.
It stretches farther than I realised—long, thin, and hanging low, as if barely tethered to the cliffs on either side.
The wind brushes past, and the entire structure sways, groaning under its own age. The creaking is loud enough to echo.
Half-rotted planks line the path, some split clean in two, others missing entirely, leaving dark gaps that reveal exactly what waits below. I must place each step with surgical precision, even my breath might tip the balance.
I dare a glance over the edge—and immediately regret it. A violent river churns beneath us, frothy from colliding with jagged black rocks. The current is so fast it looks hungry.
If I fall, I’m dead.
There’s no two ways about it.
“Are you sure about this?” Ryder’s hand closes around my arm, firm but trembling, his eyes searching mine for even the smallest flicker of certainty. He’s scared—of the bridge, of the mountain, of losing me—but trying so hard not to show it.
I force a small smile, even though my stomach is tight enough to snap.
“We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”
He stops me before I can take another step, pulling me in with a sudden, desperate urgency.
His arm wraps around my waist, grounding me, and then his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss is trembling, almost frantic—like he’s terrified that if he lets go, the Hollow or the mountain or this cursed place will swallow me whole.
Like he needs to feel me alive against him, just for a second longer.
He pulls away.
“How did you know it was me?” he asks, the storm in his eyes following mine.
“He didn’t have your eyes,” I reply softly, letting the truth settle between us as I draw him into another embrace. Ryder’s brow knits briefly, then eases as he melts into my touch, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead before stepping back.
I stare at the edge, forcing myself to breathe, to steady my shaking legs. The wind claws at the bridge, making the ropes groan, and I swear the whole thing tilts toward the canyon like it wants to taste my fear.
I swallow hard.
“I should go first,” Ryder says, worry roughening his voice.
“No.” I shake my head, the word leaving me before fear can catch it. “I started this… all of it.” My gaze drops to my boots, to the dirt scuffed into the leather like proof of every wrong turn that led us here. “I should be the one to do it.”
For a long beat, he doesn’t argue.
He studies me with that quiet, devastating resolve I know too well, then gives a single nod—an unspoken promise to let me lead, and to follow me anywhere anyway.
“Wait for me on the other side,” Ryder says, keeping his voice as steady as he can manage. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I give Ryder a stiff nod, trying to ignore the way my stomach is tying itself into knots. River catches my eye and offers me a small, earnest smile—brave on the surface, but trembling around the edges.
“Be careful,” he says gently.
My throat is too tight to answer, so I just nod again and step forward.
My foot reaches the first panel. It dips under my weight with a slow, complaining groan.
The ropes shiver.
The wind inhales.
And suddenly the entire world narrows to the uncertain wood beneath my boot… and the roaring drop waiting hungrily below. No wonder Ziek insisted we cross one at a time—this bridge can barely handle me, let alone all three of us.
The middle of the bridge is the worst of it. The panels thin out to almost nothing, forcing me to stretch and balance with every step, and the wind surges harder here—shoving and tugging—until my knuckles turn white around the frayed ropes.
The pace of my heart turns erratic, wild and uncontrollable, and I can’t tell whether the bridge is swaying with the wind or with my trembling knees.
A quick look back at Ryder and River, both standing on tenterhooks, their shoulders rigid and their breaths held like one wrong step might send me plunging to my death, only makes the air feel thinner, harder to swallow.
I hadn’t said much to River after he hinted that the kiss meant something to him. I didn’t know how to respond then… but out here, suspended over a churning canyon with nothing beneath me but air and splintered wood, the distance between us feels like a mile of clarity. And I know.
I do love him—just not the way he hopes.
I love him the way you love your favourite sweater: the thing that wraps around you when the world feels too cold, familiar and comforting, something you trust to keep you warm.
He’s my safety blanket, and I will always care for him.
But the spark he sees—this pull—feels misguided.
I think he senses the star inside me, the way Ryder did at first. Except this time it isn’t the serpent venom tricking his instincts; it’s something older, deeper.
River has been tied to both Moon and Sun since the moment he was born—because of Ryder, because of the bond they share. Maybe that connection has always brushed against me too, whispering something cosmic and tangled and confusing. Not love. Not romance. Something else entirely.
The rope in my hand jerks violently, jolting me from my thoughts.
At first, I think it’s just another cruel gust of wind, but then the entire bridge drops a full foot, boards slamming downward in a sickening lurch. My stomach shoots into my throat.
“Asha!” Ryder shouts behind me—sharp and panicked.
Before I can answer, the left support rope gives a long, tearing groan—the kind that sounds like a death sentence—and a spray of fibres explodes outward in the air.
The bridge is beginning to snap.
“RUN!” River’s voice cracks like lightning. “Asha, run to the other side!”
I don’t think. I just move.
My feet pound against the planks, each step a gamble—some solid, some missing, some so rotten they crumble the moment I land on them. The bridge buckles sideways, throwing my balance off so violently that I slam into the rope railing with enough force to bruise my ribs.
Behind me, the bridge pulls away from the rock.
The entire world tilts.
“ASHA!” Ryder screams, voice breaking into something I’ve never heard from him before—pure, helpless fear.
The remaining rope on my right frays with rapid snaps, each one a countdown.
If I stop, I die.
If I fall, I die.
If I hesitate, even for a breath—
I throw myself forward, leaping over a shattered plank. My boot skids on the next, sliding across splinters, and for one horrifying moment I’m dangling over nothing—air roaring below me as the river thrashes against jagged stone far, far beneath.
I catch the rope with burning hands, swing, and lunge back onto the boards.
Ten more feet.
Five.
The last three planks are barely planks at all—just wood clinging to life.
I sprint, legs screaming, lungs on fire, heart beating loud enough to drown out the bridge’s death chants—
And then I hurl myself forward.
I hit the ground. Hard. Dirt and moss scrape my palms as I skid across solid earth on the Mourn Peak side of the canyon.
The exact second my boots clear the edge—
The final support rope snaps.
The bridge collapses in a violent, deafening cascade of broken wood and whipping rope. It falls away beneath my heels, sucked into the canyon and swallowed whole by the roaring river below.
I scramble back from the edge, chest heaving, sweat cooling too fast on my skin.
On the opposite side—across a deadly, impossible gulf—Ryder and River stand frozen.
Ryder’s face is pale, eyes wide with terror and relief. “Asha!” His voice catches. “Thank the Gods—you—”
River steps forward, stopping just shy of the edge. “You made it.” But his voice is hollow. Because he can see what I see.
There is no bridge anymore.
No path.
Nothing but a canyon carved deep and merciless between us.
A distance too wide to cross.
Ryder shakes his head, panic tightening his jaw. “Asha, don’t—don’t go up that mountain alone. We’ll find another way. Just wait there—”
“Ryder.” My voice trembles, but I force it steady. “There is no way. Not from your side.”
Mourn Peak towers behind me—obsidian-dark, swallowing sunlight, a looming promise Oriah had warned me about.
And realisation dawns on all three of us at the same time.
They can’t face Mourn Peak with me.
I have to go alone.
This was the Hollows’ last twisted game.
Ryder’s voice is a raw whisper carried on the wind. “Asha… please. Don’t leave us.”
My throat burns with unshod fear and something like heartbreak.
But I turn toward the mountain anyway.
Because there is only one path left, and it leads straight into the darkness.