Mount Kuarttha

CAMPSITE

Rhythmic chirps come from the darkness beyond the tree line.

Red embers speckled in black settle releasing a puff of sparks. Their whisper competing with the breeze. A wisp of smoke curls above the carefully laid circle of stones.

Two tents stand near the fire, pitched on a narrow patch of ground beside the mountain

A precipice above reaches into the sky, cutting its shape from the stars. Its edge glows faintly, illuminated by two of Lorig’s moons. One bright white moon sets, the ocher moon hangs higher. A third, smaller moon lingers in the sky, so dark it nearly disappears among the stars.

The forest holds its breath.

Blue touches the sky above the camp, washing away the blackness and stars. The tip of the mountain brightens, gray stone streaked with green.

The forest stirs before the light reaches it.

A zipper slides along a vertical seam, smoothing material pulled taut.

An arm emerges from the opening, mug and canteen in hand. Asaris slips out after it.

His spine straightens. He twists, reaching toward the moons.

Asaris feeds bulbous stalks into the embers, knotted and fibrous. A few crackles escape the pit.

A flame swells among the kindling. Asaris nestles his canteen between stone and flame to warm.

The darkness recedes. The mountain’s glow warms the campsite.

Asaris bites into a ration bar. His gaze unfocused in the light of the fire. He chews long after the taste is gone.

The other tent rustles. A low, contented grunt rolls through the taut fabric. A soft snort. The zipper descends. Iaro emerges.

He freezes, eyes locking with Asaris, a grin growing on his face.

“What?”

“If those noises came from the forest, I’d have pulled my side arm.”

Iaro grumbles. “And I thought Farah wasn’t on this trip.”

A mild snicker from Asaris as he tosses a ration bar to Iaro.

Iaro eases down onto logs.

Flames dance. They lean in towards the heat.

Tongs clank against the metal canteen. Asaris lifts it from the fire and pours. Liquid rises toward the lip of a mug. A tea bag bobs.

The tea warms them as the sun rises over the treetops. An orange glow spreads over the campsite. Faint sounds from creatures in the woods whisper through the camp.

They sip the last of the tea. Fabric rustles as sleeping rolls disappear into their packs. Tent poles collapse with a hollow snap.

Their gaze lifts to the ridge, white against indigo.

Their shadows stretch to the tree line, blending into the brush.

Asaris pours water onto the fire, then kicks dirt over the coals. Wisps of steam seep through the dirt, rising and catching a breeze above them.

The campsite empties. Only the sounds of the forest fill the small clearing.

ON THE PATH

Gravel and dirt grind underfoot. Their shoes and boots scrape over the dusty path, small stones tumbling ahead of them.

A stick twirls in Asaris’s hand. He taps the bark of trees.

His stride wide, pace quick. The trail bends through the trees, roots pushing through the soil.

The canopy arches overhead from trunk to trunk. A breeze catches tree branches, rustling the leaves and casting flecks of sunlight on the path.

Iaro follows a few steps back.

“Are you planning to sprint the whole mountain?”

Asaris glances back.

“You’re keeping up.”

“It’s flat here. It’s vertical up there.”

The path widens before them. Sunlight pools in the clearing as branches reach out from the trees, breaking the edges.

They step forward. Sunlight finds them.

Wooden stools rest to their right, a picnic table beyond them in half shade.

Asaris eases down onto the wooden bench. He takes a gulp from his canteen.

Behind the table, water spatters, bubbling through a metal spigot.

He reaches over. The canteen catches the stream, spilling over its lip.

In the clearing, Iaro tilts his face into the warmth of the sun, tension leaving his frame.

Asaris lowers his canteen and watches him for a moment

He reaches into his pack and draws out his imager.

Iaro stands centered in the frame. His shadow stretches into the corner over grass dotted with tiny yellow flowers. The turquoise sky peeks above the treetops as sunlight streaks through the clearing.

The imager clicks.

Asaris lowers the imager, inspecting the image on its display. A faint smile reaches his mouth.

He rises to his feet, looking up through the clearing. The trail switchbacks up the mountainside toward the bare slopes above the forest.

He swings his pack over his shoulders.

“Ready?”

Iaro nods.

“See that ledge?” He points toward a distant shelf below the sheer face of the peak. “Braiger’s Bench. Many turn back before reaching it. We’ll stop there if the weather turns.”

“Understood. Who’s Braiger?”

“A climber who waited out the storm there.”

“Did he make it to the summit?”

“It depends on who you ask.”

Asaris chuckles softly. “Let’s move.”

They tighten the straps on their packs. The sun fades on their backs as the forest closes around them.

The trail steepens and the forest begins to thin along the slope.

The trail steepens and the forest begins to thin along the slope.

THE SCRAMBLE

The forest splits, trees rising along the slope to their left and descending on the slope to their right. The trail breaks apart into a granite scramble, blocks piled on blocks, a shattered wedge of the mountain locked together.

Iaro slides sideways between two boulders. His pack scrapes on granite.

Asaris passes through with little effort, wiry plants scratch at his legs.

“Still easier than field survival.”

A small leathery creature with horned scales clings to the side of a boulder, watching the two travelers. It scampers, disappearing into a crack in the granite.

“Instructor Dantan... did not like us.”

The heat builds. A shimmer over the ground twists the path ahead. It turns and rises through more stone.

“He doesn’t like anyone. Well, maybe Kuar.”

Asaris and Iaro’s heads tip back, boulders overrun the path. The trail disappears into the slope, the hillside becomes a field of stone.

Their eyes hold on the steep incline. Air shimmers over the hot boulders.

“It’s time to go up.” Iaro says.

Asaris lifts a knee, shoe scraping granite. His weight shifts. Arms reach out as he climbs the next boulders.

Foot, foot, hand, lift. Hand, foot, hand, lift.

A rhythm of scrapes and breath builds with Asaris’s steady ascent. A dry mineral smell wafts from the rock.

Iaro takes to larger boulders beside him. His reach spans the surface of the granite as he presses his palms flat against the hot stone.

They climb in steady rhythm—reach, step, pull.

Loose grit skitters down the slope with each shift of weight.

The air grows warmer against the rock.

The forest canopy spreads across the valley floor below them now. A ribbon of water winding through the trees, narrowing as it reaches distant peaks.

A drop of sweat darkens the granite near his hand. Another wobbles on the tip of Asaris’s nose as he pushes up onto the rock.

He settles on the slab of stone.

“Halfway?”

Iaro climbs up beside him.

“No.”

Breath rasps in their throats as they study the next spill of granite above them.

“There’s a ledge up there?”

Dust plumes and settles on the rock as he brushes his hands together. He wipes them on his shirt, leaving white streaks. 

Iaro lets out a low rumbling chuckle, “Somewhere.”

“Oh... good.”

They draw their canteens. Water splashes in open mouths. A few drops spatter on the granite boulder. The dark spots fade quickly.

Shoes scrape over the boulder as they come to their feet. They continue on, their rhythm renewed.

The mountainside bakes under the Lorig sun directly overhead. No clouds to give relief. The air hangs still and thick.

Crooked trees and dense shrubs cling to the slope, their roots gripping pockets of soil between the rocks.

The boulders steepen again. Asaris plants a hand and pulls himself over another slab.

Heat swells in his face. Blood rushes in his ears. Sweat stings his eyes.

One more step. Another reach.

The rock tilts toward the sun.

Asaris’s head rises above the ledge. A heavy breath follows each deliberate step over the last boulder. His foot stomps onto the broad ledge.

A field of flags spreads out the ledge—fluttering, worn, dirty, sun bleached, some fresh and new.

Iaro appears moments later. His breath longer and deeper.

Their backs press against a tree away from the edge. Breath comes fast.

“Well,” Asaris pants, “still better than survival training.” He glances at his wrist, “479 meters... up.”

Bark crumbles against his back as he slides down to the ground.

He glances over to flags rippling along the ledge.

“This is where people turn back.”

“Some,” Iaro says.

Iaro pulls his canteen free of his pack. He gulps, water trickles down his jaw.

Asaris’s gaze lifts. Cumulus clouds adorn the horizon. Their shadows darken the forest below.

Sunlight shimmers on a distant lake. A ziggurat rises from the water, its terraces reaching the shore and continuing into the forest.

“I’ve never seen Tenabau from up high,” Iaro’s voice comes from over Asaris.

A gentle breeze stirs the branches overhead. They remain for a moment, taking in the view, sipping on water.

Asaris rises to his feet. “We should keep moving.” Water slushes as he shakes his canteen, “And find more water.”

He surveys the broad ledge—flat stone broken by patches of grass and a scatter of small trees where the slope rises again.

The mountain disappears behind forest climbing the slope. The treeline traces the edge of the ledge before curving out of sight.

Iaro holds his tetrum in hand. “We can take the plateau around. Or save time and hike up, through the forest.”

“The forest. Let’s see where it goes.”

They cross the broad ledge, boots scraping over flat stone and patches of grass.

The trees gather thick along the far edge of the ledge.

Stiff bushes crackle as they push through. A narrow, barely worn path winds between the trees.

The ledge fades behind them. Ahead, the trail narrows to a sienna line through the green.

One foot in front of the other, the march forward, occasionally maneuvering over roots reaching up from the soil.

The forest closes around them. The path bends between trunks and disappears again ahead.

The air hums with insects somewhere high in the canopy.

Iaro slows. His steps go quiet.

His gaze fixes somewhere ahead through the trees.

He stops mid-step.

Asaris takes a few more steps before glancing back. He pauses.

“What?”

A faint metallic clatter drifts through the trees.

Asaris’s head snaps to the direction of the sound.

Iaro’s chin tilts downrange. One slow step.

Asaris peers through branches and leaves, faint strikes of sunlight flickering between them. He sees nothing.

They freeze where they stand, two figures caught between the trees.

Murmurs carry through the trees

Iaro’s head tilts, listening.

Asaris raises his wrist.

Multiple lifeforms detected:
• Human
• Reyen
• Auobarian

The list continues to scroll.

He steps off the trail.

Vines catch on his pack, bushes rising to his shoulders. A creature squawks above as it flutters away. Twigs break underfoot.

Light breaks through the trees ahead.

More voices reach through the brush.

Figures move in the clearing.

ARCHAEOLOGY CAMP

Asaris steps out of the woods into the basecamp. He does not announce himself as he counts the figures.

Spiked green pods cling to his clothes. He flicks them into the grass.

Iaro peers through branches into the arrangement of tents. He pauses before he steps into the field.

“Hello!” A voice calls from across the camp.

Their eyes fix on a woman approaching, waving.

Iaro emerges from the trees a few paces behind.

Asaris steps through the dry, tall grass, stalks brushing his shoes. He closes the distance to meet her.

Iaro makes no effort to hurry, remaining several paces behind Asaris.

They meet without haste. The woman stops, holstering a small tool.

“We don’t get many hikers here. You’ve taken the hard way up.” A few loose hairs fall across her eyes.

“We like a challenge.”

“I’m Doctor Iwasaki, lead archaeologist here. This is technically a restricted site.”

Asaris looks past her. “A restricted archaeological site?”

“Yes.”

Iaro glances across the tents. “What are archaeologists doing on Lorig?”

She pulls the gloves from her hands, studying them for a moment.

“You two aren’t like most hikers.” She tucks her gloves into her belt.

Asaris rises an eyebrow. “No?”

“No.”

“Tell me more,” Asaris says.

Her eyes move between them, her head tilting slightly.

“Are you from the city?”

“No. We’re from the Academy. Asaris. This is Iaro.”

A smile takes shape across her face.

“You’re from the Academy. Of course. Some of your colleagues are already here.” She brings herself around, stride taking her towards the camp.

“From the Science Division.” Her voice carries back to them as she motions them over.

A look fires between them. Asaris makes his way toward the encampment, Iaro follows a moment later.

People gather around freestanding consoles. Lab equipment and tools rest on nearby tables.

The two walk between the tents. A few heads turn as they pass.

Doctor Iwasaki lifts the flap of a nearby tent and disappears inside.

The canvas settles behind her.

Asaris reaches the tent a moment later.

THE FIELD LAB

Asaris pushes through the flaps of the tent.

The sun softens to a warm glow through the canvas. Tables crowd the interior.

Iaro ducks as he steps inside.

“Cadet Asaris and Iaro are here.” She leans on a lab table.

Rummarov lifts her head from a scanner, swivels around on her stool.

No one speaks. Equipment hums softly.

Asaris nods after a moment. “Hello.”

Rummarov nods.

Iaro doesn’t move.

“We are Intelligence Division,” Iaro cuts in.

The tension loosens.

“Oh...” Doctor Iwasaki clears hair from her eyes. “Then you’ll appreciate anomalies.”

A moment.

Rummarov comes to her feet. “Do you want to see something strange?”

“We—“ Asaris glances up to Iaro. “Yes.”

“Great. You know how to keep things a secret?”

Asaris smiles faintly. “We try.”

He exchanges a look with Iaro.

Rummarov turns toward the tent flap and pushes through without waiting.

THE CAVE

Three silhouettes darken against the light and forest, framed by the rectangular mouth to a cave.

Gravel grinds underfoot. The steps slow as they approach the pillars.

The entrance doesn’t widen—it rises. Two granite pillars frame the opening.

Warm air shifts as the cave exhales a cool breeze.

Their chins lift. Their gaze following the pillars upward.

Asaris’s eye search the ceiling.

“This wasn’t on the map.”

“No.” Rummarov moves straight to one of the columns.

Asaris and Iaro crane their necks back. Neither moves.

“Over here.” Her voice reaches them.

Iaro moves first. Asaris still studies the structure.

“Give it a scan,” Rummarov says.

Asaris pauses, studying the pillar again.

Asaris lifts his arm. His tetrum chirps.

Material: Granite
Type: Igneous — intrusive
Composition:
• Quartz
• Feldspar — plagioclase
• Mica — biotite
Density: 2.66667 g/cm³

“It’s granite.”

“And the mountain?” Iaro peers over Asaris at his tetrum.

“Also granite. And your OP says?” Rummarov asks.

Asaris’s lips part—

“Forty-three million years old.” Her steps take her to the wall.

“But the pillar’s age... is a fraction of that.” Asaris’s eye search the cave.

Rummarov gives a measured nod as their eyes meet. A smile forms. Her eyes widen

Asaris’s gaze lifts, the pillar fills his view.

His arm extends. His fingers glide over the surface. Perfect.

Iaro moves to the next pillar. He crouches where it meets the wall. His finger traces the seam.

“Someone was here before the Kij?” Asaris asks.

Iaro’s voice carries from a distance. “It’s too old to be Kij.”

Rummarov nods slowly. “And too young to be the mountain.”

A moment passes.

Her palm presses against the granite, eyes searching it. “No chisel striations. No thermal alterations. No vitrification.”

Rummarov turns, then turns again, looking up into the vault.

She stops.

“It’s not carved... it’s... written.”

Asaris’s head snaps toward her.

He searches her face. He pauses. “Can you read it?”

“Not yet.”

Iaro settles by Asaris.

“Clouds are forming.”

Asaris gives a subtle nod. “What writes in granite?”

“We should get going,” Asaris says.

His hand returns to the pillar.

Iaro turns toward the entrance.

Asaris follows, then slows.

“Let me know when you sort it out,” Asaris calls over his shoulder.

Rummarov never looks away from the stone. “I will.”

His gaze drifts to Rummarov, then to the pillar rising into the vault.

He lingers for a moment.

Then he turns and catches up with Iaro at the tree line.

The pillars stand silent behind him.

BRAIGER’S BENCH

Asaris keeps a steady pace up the incline, shoes finding confident ground.

Below, an ocean of green, the valley floor obscured by foliage. Above, a rock face rising higher than either can see.

A haze forms against the blue horizon. A halo wreaths the sun. The mountain’s black and white face softens to gray as shadows fade.

They hug the cliff, treetops nearly an arm’s reach on the other side.

A bird calls from above. Asaris whistles back without breaking stride.

Iaro doesn’t answer the bird. He lengthens his stride and closes the distance between them. Loose gravel shifts underfoot. Iaro reaches for a fallen branch, testing the ground ahead before committing his weight.

The wind presses against them. A few cool drops strike the dust and vanish. Dark dots stipple the rocks along the path.

Asaris’s wrist chirps. He glances at the weather map on his tetrum.

They pause, watching the clouds a moment. The gray clouds shift to dark, blue-gray as a steady wind descends. Waves of green cross the valley as treetops thrash.

Asaris steps back onto the narrow path.

Thunder rumbles, rolling from one side of the valley to the other, then back again.

The drops grow heavier, the rhythm quickens.

Water beads and rolls off Iaro’s scutate skin, tracing grooves between the faint, plate-like regions of his fingers and arms.

Rain mats Asaris’s hair. His hand slicks liquid from his brow.

More rain comes. The pattering shifts to a constant static. Rocks dark, dirt now mud. The greens of the foliage deepen, glossy, flashing white as narrow leaves twist in the wind.

They press on. Asaris shortens his stride, testing the slick stones beneath the mud. Flecks of forest detritus speckle his shoes.

Mud cakes Iaro’s boots with every step, the path accepting his weight.

Ahead, granite juts over the valley, the tree line dropping sharply along the gorge below.

The path slips into a shallow alcove in the rock face, covered by the outcrop.

Rain lashes the rocks beyond the alcove.

They step into the alcove, studying it for a moment, unconcerned by the storm darkening the valley.

Rock stools sit in dry dirt. Their surfaces worn smooth from countless travelers. Flags planted behind the stools faintly stir.

Asaris eases down onto one of the stones. He lets his pack slide off his shoulders to the ground behind him. Water settles in his brow, dripping with each blink.

Iaro faces the valley. He stays rooted overlooking the forest canopy and the mountains across the valley, muted by rain. His hand presses against the rock ceiling.

Asaris raises his imager. Iaro stands framed by the alcove, the outcrop cutting into the rain, the valley fading from green to gray beneath the clouds.

“Braiger had the right idea,” Asaris says.

Iaro watches the rain.

“He had somewhere dry to sit.”

Rain hisses softly on the canopy.

Asaris reaches behind and pulls his pack close. A faint crinkle fills the alcove as he produces two bars from a pocket.

Iaro lowers himself on a stool, his back straight.

Asaris’s arm extends. Iaro’s hand grasps the bar. They peel the laminated foil packet, lifting the bars to their mouths. The vague scent of toasted grains and umami notes fills their noses. The first bites are dense, salty, faintly fermented.

They chew slowly, listening to the rain.

They tuck the wrappers in their pockets.

Their canteens slosh as swigs of water wash the remnants down.

A low rumble crosses the valley. The rain settles into a steady rhythm, drumming against leaves and rock. It blurs the distant mountains.

Tension releases from Asaris’s shoulders. He settles back against the wall of the alcove. His hands rest in his lap.

Iaro’s spine stays straight, palms pressed down on his knees.

Their gaze softens looking into the distance.

The storm moves slowly across the valley.

Asaris’s eyelids grow heavy, drooping with the passing moments.

His eyes close, the storm fading to a distant hush.

The rhythm of the rain on the forest canopy softens. The gray clouds brighten a few shades. A low veil forms over the forest and drifts upward along the slope. The mountains fade in the distance, leaving only the serration of peaks.

Stray drops fall from the alcove’s edge, pattering on wet stone.

Asaris’s eyelids lift.

Iaro leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching the fog lift from the valley.

A chorus fades in from the forest. Contact chirps ricochet through the valley. Croaks and trills simmer below.

The heavy, warm air presses in around them while the dampness pervades.

Asaris draws a slow breath, glancing towards the valley. The air smells of wet stone and soil.

Their spines straighten. Asaris stretches, rolling his shoulder, then comes to his feet. Iaro rises beside him.

Packs slung, dampness lifting, they step back onto the ledge.

THE COULOIRS

Thunderheads drift into the distance. Occasional flashes illuminate the dark clouds. Blue returns to the sky over the valley. White puffs of clouds float peacefully, some level with their eyes.

Braiger’s Bench sweeps north beneath their feet. Their strides fall into a steady rhythm.

Water clings to the cliff face, gleaming in the returning sun. Their shadows are mere dark nicks against the slope, the mountain dropping away above and below them.

They stand at the edge. The forest lies far below them, carpeting the valley. Obzen rises in the middle. The faint murmur of the city drifts up the mountainside. The Kurukshetra hangs above, incandescent in the bright sky. Facility 17 lies on the shoulder of the mountain, and Mattriks nests at the base of Kuarttha.

Asaris raises his imager and captures the view.

A cool wind moves along the mountain, catching the short quills on Iaro’s arms and scalp.

Asaris slips on his jacket and moves back onto the path, the imager tucked away.

Iaro’s attention shifts to the mountain. He studies the end of the bench.

The mountain splits into two sister peaks, one rising higher than the other. A narrow couloir cuts between them.

“That’s our way up.”

Asaris follows his gaze.

The ledge abruptly ends. A wall of granite rises toward a spire. The valley opens to their right.

They step into the mouth of the couloir.

Water cascades down the flat rocks lining the couloir floor. It spills over the ledge, breaking into mist. A faint rainbow hangs in the mist beyond the cliff.

Asaris steps onto the wet stone.

His shoe slips slightly.

Iaro watches him for a moment.

“Careful.”

Asaris steadies himself and climbs higher into the narrow channel.

The couloir steepens, the hike giving way to a climb.

Cold, clear water spills between the rocks at their feet.

Asaris crouches beside the flow and dips his canteen into the stream. Air spits from the mouth as the canteen fills.

He closes the cap and presses a button on the side. A ring lights around the cap. Two consecutive beeps followed by a third longer carry from the canteen.

He sips on the fresh water.

Each step forces their knees high. Tiers of moss-covered stone rise into more above.

A tall rock blocks the couloir ahead.

Iaro reaches up, grips the top, and pulls himself over.

Asaris stops.

He studies the rock, finds a foothold, climbs halfway, then pulls up after him.

Two rocks tower over them, a body’s width apart. Notches climb the side, dug out, irregular and haphazard.

Iaro climbs first, hands finding the notches, boots locking into place as he pulls himself upward.

Asaris studies the rock, and studies it again. A slow breath leaves him.

He climbs the cut notches in the rock, hands and shoes settling into each step.

Grit sprinkles down with each reach. The couloir falls away beneath him.

His head drops as he looks down between his legs. The spiral of rock and water looks small below.

Above, only sky. No Iaro.

He drives upward with his legs. His breath grows heavy.

The footholds taper. Another step. Another pull. Another breath.

His shoes scrape at the rock. His fingers curl slowly. Granite dust fills the creases of his hands and the scrapes on his knuckles.

Sky widens over the edge of the rock.

Asaris’s teeth clench. He reaches for the final notches.

Iaro’s head appears over the ledge. He glances at Asaris’s hand gripping the rock.

“You’re gripping the rock like it’s trying to escape.”

“I’m trying to esc—“

A sharp scrape cut upward as Asaris’s shoe slips. Gravity takes Asaris.

A hand snaps around his wrist.

Iaro pulls him up.

Asaris settles on his knees. Breath comes quick. Eyes closed.

Water trickles down the rock beside them.

“I thought we’d plan our descent after we reached the summit,” Iaro says.

Asaris’s eyes open.

His gaze lifts to Iaro.

A trace of amusement touches his mouth.

Iaro’s hand reaches out. He pulls Asaris to his feet.

“Let’s rest for a moment. The summit’s near.”

KUARTTHA SUMMIT

Gusts of wind kick up dust. Clouds drift far below the small plateau.

A hand reaches over the edge, fingernails packed with dirt, faint blood along the cuticles. Another hand, three slender, scaled fingers pull at pebbles and dust.

Asaris and Iaro’s heads rise over the ledge.

“One... two... three!” The count together.

A press down on the dirt, triceps tighten, their bodies shoot up over the ledge.

They crest the ridge, the horizon opens below them. The sunlight cuts across the summit.

Asaris’s weight shifts from hands and knees to feet. He throws a fist into the air. “Yes!” He laughs, unfiltered.

Iaro and Asaris’s hands clap against each others’.

Their chests swell and recede, breath recovering.

Their gaze drifts to the horizon. The land falls into a deep valley below them—Obzen and the Academy. Even the Kurukshetra hangs below them, its long hull spanning part of Obzen yet small from this height.

“I have never seen the valley like this,” Asaris says.

“Everything feels small from up here,” Iaro says, his voice a low register beneath the wind.

Wind catches their jackets. Sun beats down. Asaris’s hand shades his eyes.

They stand a moment, letting the wind move around them.

He retrieves his imager, holding it in his palm. Its face pocked with micro-apertures across a matte surface.

A shimmer spreads across the surface as it captures the image.

Moments pass as their eyes drift over the vista.

The clinking of metal breaks in from behind them.

A small tree clings to the summit beside them, no taller than Iaro, its bark peeled and branches worn by wind, roots reach out of the dusty soil. Medallions hang from the branches, layered—some tarnished, some worn by wind.

Small flags crowd the base of the tree, their colors flickering in the wind.

Patches of green scatter among the rocks.

“Kyuja medallions?” Asaris reaches toward the branches.

“Some bring them here,” Iaro says.

“They leave them?” Asaris asks.

Iaro nods.

”The mountain keeps them.”

Asaris’s eyes rest on the small tree clinging to the summit, then down to the flags.

“We made it.”

They stand quietly by the tree.

Voices come from behind. A group of climbers approach the ridge.

“Hello!”

The climbers jog to the cadets.

“Would you capture an image for us?”

“Of course!” Asaris receives their imager.

The climbers group together along the ledge.

“Ready?” Asaris says.

They nod.

A shimmer spreads across the surface of the imager

“Thank you,” one of them says. “Let us take one for you.” They exchange imagers.

Asaris and Iaro step onto a small boulder. Asaris’s fingers settle over Iaro’s shoulder. Iaro’s palm presses gently against Asaris’s shoulder.

The climbers count them in. The image captured.

“Thank you again.” The climbers hands Asaris back his imager.

“Anytime.”

The climbers move off.

The imager rests in Asaris’s hand, their photo glowing on the display.

The two laugh unfiltered.

“A worthy record,” Asaris says.

Iaro studies the summit around them

“Kuarttha allowed it.”

Asaris draws a thin spike from his pack.

“Now the most important part.”

A square green flag embroidered with ‘AA’ snaps in the wind

Iaro draws an orange flag from his pack. A symbol embroidered at its center

Asaris angles his flag beside Iaro’s

The spike bites into the soil as Iaro drives it between the roots of the tree.

Asaris sets his beside it, driving the spike deep among the many others.

Iaro’s spine straightens. “It is done.”

“It is.” Asaris plants his feet. His shoulders settle back.

The corners of his mouth lift.

They stand a moment beside the flags.

“Now what?”

“Must you always be in motion, Alexander?”

“In motion?” Asaris scoffs.

Their eyes linger on the flags, struggling to move in the crowded wind.

Dirt and rock grind beneath Iaro’s boots.

He settles on the ledge.

Asaris twists where he stands, watching Iaro.

Water pours from Iaro’s bottle, filling two metal mugs.

Iaro waits.

A breath escapes Asaris’s nose. A smile follows.

Asaris settles onto the ledge beside him.

Metal mugs clink together, water sloshing over their hands.

Their mugs raise.

They sip and sit.

The sun dips lower.

Red settles along the horizon. Blue slips from the sky.

Their shadows stretch behind them.