Chapter 36
Vaelor
The wind sharpened as they approached the base of Mt.
Volt, carrying with it a metallic tang that made the back of Vaelor’s neck prickle.
The sky above them had shifted into a strange, reddish hue—streaks of crimson and violet bleeding across the horizon like warning signs painted by the gods.
The air felt charged, heavy, as if the mountain itself were bracing for something violent.
A storm was coming.
He could scent it clearly now—ozone, ice, and the faint, electric bite of approaching lightning. It coiled in the wind like a living thing, whispering danger.
He opened his mouth to warn Mara, but she beat him to it.
“Does the sky look weird to you?” she asked, squinting upward.
He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
“My father used to repeat a sailor’s saying,” she said. “‘Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning. Red skies at night, sailor’s delight.’ Basically, if the sky looks like a murder scene at dawn, a storm’s coming.”
Vaelor nodded. “I agree. I can scent the storm in the wind. We need to get across that bridge before it hits.”
Mara followed his gaze—and her breath caught.
The Bridge of Souls stretched between Mt. Volt and Mt. Bolt like a frozen serpent, suspended a thousand meters above the glacier floor. Twelve thousand meters long. Narrow. Uneven. Exposed. The wind howled through the gaps, producing a low, eerie moan that vibrated through Vaelor’s bones.
“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s… tall.”
“It is a bridge,” he said dryly. “Bridges are typically elevated.”
She shot him a look. “Yeah, but this one looks like it was designed by someone who hates people.”
“That is likely true.”
Despite the danger, he felt a flicker of warmth at her attempt to lighten the moment. She always did that—met fear with humor, uncertainty with stubborn optimism. It was one of the many things he admired about her.
But the warmth faded when they reached the mountain’s base and realized the bridge wasn’t accessible from the ground. The first section was perched high above them, reachable only by scaling a jagged wall of ice and rock.
Mara groaned. “Of course. Why would anything be easy?”
“If you get on my back,” Vaelor said, “I can climb up to the bridge.”
She raised a brow. “I rock climb for fun, remember? I just need a rope and a rock pick.”
“I do not doubt your skills,” he said gently. “But this will be faster. And the storm is closing in.”
She hesitated, then sighed. “Okay. But let me have the packs.”
He helped her shrug into both packs, tightening the straps. The combined weight immediately pulled her backward.
“I’m not sure this is going to work,” she admitted.
“Let me see if I can get the straps of my pack around you and through my arms.”
It took some maneuvering—and a few muttered curses from Mara—but they managed to secure the packs, so she was pressed firmly against his back, her arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“Are you going to be able to move like this?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “But I will need to go slightly slower so I can ensure a good grip.”
“Slower is fine,” she said. “I’d prefer not to die today.”
He chuckled softly. “I will keep that in mind.”
Vaelor began the climb, finding jutting rocks and ice ridges with practiced ease. Mara clung to him, her breath warm against the back of his neck. The storm wind whipped around them, tugging at her hair, trying to pry her fingers loose.
“Hey, Vaelor?” she called over the wind.
“Yes?”
“If I fall, I want you to know I blame you.”
He huffed a laugh. “Noted.”
The climb was short but treacherous. Ice cracked beneath his boots, and the wind howled like a living beast. When they finally reached a narrow ledge carved into the mountain, Mara exhaled shakily.
Vaelor kept her on his back until they reached the bridge itself—just in case the ledge ended abruptly. When they stepped onto the first icy plank, the wind screamed across the gap, nearly knocking her sideways.
The first drops of sizzling cold rain hit them like needles.
“Great,” Mara muttered. “The sky’s bleeding and now it’s spitting acid. Perfect.”
“It is only water,” Vaelor said.
“Water shouldn’t sizzle.”
They moved carefully, gripping the thin railings. The steps were uneven—some barely wide enough for a single foot, others spaced nearly two feet apart. Mara had to stretch awkwardly to reach the next one, her boots slipping on the slick ice.
“Oh!” she yelped as her foot slid.
Vaelor reacted instantly, reaching back and catching her hand, steadying her before she could pitch forward into the abyss.
“Careful,” he said, voice tight.
“Yeah, no kidding,” she muttered, heart pounding.
Halfway across the bridge, the storm hit full force.
The wind roared, slamming into them with enough strength to shove Mara sideways. The rain hardened into hail—sharp, stinging pellets that bounced off her hood and Vaelor’s shoulders.
“This sucks!” she shouted over the wind.
Vaelor laughed—a deep, warm sound that cut through the storm. “It does.”
“Glad we agree!”
Lightning flashed above them, illuminating the endless drop below. The bridge swayed, groaning under the force of the wind. Mara tightened her grip on the railing, knuckles turning white.
“Next time,” she yelled, “let’s sign up for a cooking competition instead!”
“The only thing I know how to make is the soup,” Vaelor said.
“Then we’d lose immediately. Perfect. No death bridges. Go team Vara!”
Despite the storm, despite the danger, Vaelor felt something fierce and steady settle inside him.
She was afraid—but she was still fighting. Still joking. Still moving forward.
And he would get her across this bridge.
He would get her to the final challenge.
He would get her home.
No matter what the storm threw at them.