Chapter 127

Buried in the Mountains

“Yeah, this was a shit idea,” Sylas mumbled and closed his eyes. Soon after, darkness descended and the boiling burn won.

You have died.

Save point ‘Death’ has been initialized.

“AAAAGGHHHHH!!!”

Sylas was looming over a table--specifically, a leather map laid out on the said table, his eyes laser-focused on the rugged and mountainous west. There were no indications of any traversable path anywhere, and instead even a warning that effectively forbade any movement west outside of first ripping south out of the massive valley that the castle inhabited.

Taking a sip of wine, he sat down and sighed. He wasn’t even certain how far up Agnes and he were able to climb. Some two weeks into their journey, they were hit by a massive blizzard and effectively buried. She was the first to go--rather quickly, actually, within a few hours. On the other hand, he managed to survive a few extra days before finally succumbing. It wasn’t a pleasant way to go and he didn’t want to go through it again.

Doors to the room suddenly opened whereupon Ryne and Valen walked in, the former pushing the latter with the Prince giving her precise instructions. Sylas paused, somewhat gobsmacked as he had never seen this before. It wasn’t strange; it’s been years since he interacted with them deeply within the loop.

“Oh. Didn’t know you were here,” Valen exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sylas said. “What about you two? What’s going on?”

“Oh, this?” both Ryne and he chuckled. “We both got tired of being pitied,” Ryne said as Valen directed her to sit down. “And figured we’d band together against the voices.”

"You look cute," Sylas smiled gently at Ryne's blushed cheeks and Valen's faint smile. "And smart. Guys."

“Hm?”

“I want to apologize,” he added. “I’ve been... distant. I know it sounds strange and confusing, but I had to get it off my chest.”

“Well, if you had to get it off,” Ryne said. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Observing the map. Ah!” Sylas suddenly exclaimed. “Ryne, are there any talismans that help against, like, the cold? I don’t mind mild winter--I mean biting, burning, deathly cold?”

“Uh... sure? I think?” Ryne replied. “Why? Even if it’s a Cold Snap, the castle does decently enough in protecting while the clothes take care of the rest.”

“It’s not for that. Anyway, I’ll need you for a few hours tomorrow to make some,” he said. “If you aren’t otherwise occupied, I mean.”

“No, no, I’m not! Uh, sure. We can make some,” she said, smiling.

“What do you need them for?” Valen asked.

"Oh, I'm trying to break into the west," Sylas replied.

“... but why?” Valen asked with an incredulous expression.

"Would you believe me if I said 'adventurous spirit'?" he grinned. "What do you know about the west, anyway?"

"West of here? Not much," Valen said, pouring himself a cup of wine. "Mountains, mountains, and, yeah, more mountains."

“Entirely inhospitable, huh?”

“Yes,” the Prince nodded. “I read some records about a few expeditions,” he added. “But most were either lost to the cold or returned within a month or departure. The overall sentiment was ‘if there is hell, it can’t be much worse than trying to cross those mountains’.”

“Wow. Damn.”

“Yeah. So, again I ask--why?”

“Suspicions,” Sylas said, taking a sip. “And me wanting to root out all possibilities. They were a bitch, gotta admit.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Anyway, nothing else to add? Is it possible to cut through them some other way?”

"There's no known path," Valen replied. "In fact, the route directly west of us is probably the most traversable one."

“Wait, what?”

"Hm," the Prince nodded. "The further south you go, mountains become giant, deathly canyons and chasms with huge, jagged spires acting like spears. There are a lot of legends around those places and just as many names--Infernal Spires, Ghostlands, Haunted Hollows, some even claim that it is the wall between our world and the paradise beyond. Of course, none of it can be confirmed since anyone who goes there never comes back."

“My Master said something similar,” Ryne added shortly after. “She said that even the Prophets and all the Gods’ love for them would not be enough to survive. According to her, the connection is the thinnest along that line, as though there is a rip disconnecting realities. So, even you... will not be well, Sylas. Please, don’t go.”

“... are you worried?” Sylas asked, ruffling her hair. She kicked his arm off and replied sternly.

“Of course I am! Don’t think for a second we don’t know why you’re doing this.”

“Why?” Sylas asked genuinely.

“Because of guilt,” she said. “You’re trying to look for anything palpable. Going so far to go to the effective ends of the world for something tangible. You don’t have to.”

"..." Sylas fell silent. In part, she was right. And in part, she was not. The guilt was still there, shallowly buried beneath the surface. Each time he'd die and awake to the boiling scream of the young girl's throat... it would surface and burn all over again. And yet, go he had to. In part due to guilt, and in part not. "If Gods had me live while the whole lot of finer and better people suffered, there is nothing in this world that can overcome me."

“Sylas--”

“I’m serious, the both of you,” he interrupted in a stern tone himself. “I can’t die. Not like you two can. Not like most of the world can. Here,” he handed Valen the knife. “Stab me.”

“What?”

“Stab me, cut me, stab me and twist the knife. Stab me in the heart. Gouge my eyeball out.”

“You’re insane,” Valen said.

“I am,” Sylas replied and took a knife. Before Valen could do anything, he slashed his throat--and blood began to pour.

“WHAT THE HELL?!!! SYLAS, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!!!” Valen jumped, though immediately fell--his body betraying his intentions. While the blood continued to gush and spray and while Ryne began to cry out in panic, unaware of what was going on, Sylas stood up and walked over to Valen who was crawling on the floor. He crouched and helped the Prince ‘stand’, holding him steadily while the blood continued to dye his body red. In the meantime, Valen grew silent.

He watched in horror as the blood continue to pool... and yet the man in front of him remained standing, even smiling. Even Ryne eventually succumbed to the silence. It was heavy. Permanent. Disarming. Minutes later... the blood stopped. The wound was closed. And he was alive. Fine. Dyed scarlet... but fine.

“See?” Sylas said, helping Valen to the wheelchair. “I’ll be fine.”

“W-wha--how---wha...”

“Gods loathe me, Valen,” Sylas said, sitting down and gulping down wine as his throat was beyond parched. “And they won’t let me die.”

"What... what happened?" Ryne asked. She felt something slippery beneath her feet but dared not make a guess.

“N-nothing,” Valen replied, swallowing a mouthful. “So... you’re going.”

“I’m going,” he said. “The reason why I’m asking for the talismans is for my wife.”

“WHO THE HELL IS YOUR WIFE?!!”

"And there she is," Sylas cracked a smile while both Valen and Ryne cried out in shock and horror when they saw a figure blur through a window. She landed and immediately began staring daggers at Sylas. Valen found himself speechless at the sight--the woman was... breathtaking. But it wasn't the kind of beauty that floored a man and made him entranced. It was the kind of beauty that made a man feel strange, as though she were unreal, a ghost of something abstract. "The apple of me' eye. Welcome home, honey."

“I swear, a thousand painful hives aren’t enough for you!” Agnes cursed out, sitting down. “I thought you were done with the whole ‘wife shenanigans’.”

“Why would I be?” Sylas said, taking a bite of an apple. “I only recently got to hold you tightly in my arms. We’re making progress.”

“... I just may loathe you more than the Gods themselves,” Agnes said with a sigh.

“Wow, that’s a tall order. I don’t think even you can go so far.”

“Do you really think talismans will help?” she asked, pouring herself a cup as well, but only taking a sip before recalling that the castle’s wine was awful.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I’m hopin’ and prayin’. We do need something, though. Watching you shrivel up and die like that... yea, not gonna lie, it hurt. Otherwise, you’ll just have to stay behind with these goofballs.”

“It’ll work,” she said. “It has to.”

“While your obsession with sticking with me is cute and adorable and I’m really glad we had a breakthrough in our relationship,” he said while she grunted. “You were the one who repeatedly criticized my ‘banging the head against the wall’ approach.”

“... it will work,” she repeated. “So, this discussion is pointless.”

“Okay, I am so utterly, completely, unfathomably lost,” Valen said, glancing between the pool of blood on the floor, completely fine Sylas, and the utterly confusing and breathtaking newcomer. It felt as though his entire world was flipped upside down and everything he knew turned out to be a lie in the span of five minutes.

“Treasure the feeling,” Sylas said. “It’s the happiest a man can ever truly be.”

“I echo that,” Agnes added. “Before meeting your friend over here, I thought men heroic and brave and courtly. Now I think you jaded, bitter, and corrupt.” Sylas grinned and she grinned back mockingly, though his grin, for a brief moment, turned into a candid smile. A memory lingered, both harrowing and heart-cracking. At least he knew his heart wasn’t a frosted rock no longer. It still beat.