Book One – Chapter 14

His breath escaped in short, ragged bursts, each cloud of steam snatched away by the ravenous wind as he wrestled with the storm of sensations coursing through his body. Nagrak had no idea where it had come from. He had no idea what was going on. But, given that this was often his natural state of being, he simply decided the sensation was the mountain itself pressing against his mind. What a sensation! He could barely comprehend it, but why would he need to? The mountain’s will was vast and sacred — it demanded belief, not comprehension.

Awareness trickled back to him like icy water seeping through cracks, slow and invasive. He staggered to his feet, clutching the staff. Though the Full Dark robbed him of sight, he felt its weight, its intricacy. The gnarled roots near the head were dense and heavy, far more elaborate than he had realised. Taller than himself, the staff was a rich and complex creation of delicate, interwoven layers, its surface a labyrinth of twisting, textured patterns that begged exploration. His fingers wandered reverently over it, tracing its endless spirals.

The staff had chosen him. The truth of it was etched into his marrow, undeniable and immutable — The others had to see this! Gorak, Bayazak, and Tergak, they all needed to see! Nagrak could already imagine their awe, their astonishment, the shift in their gazes as they recognised his ascension.

Reaching out with his free hand, Nagrak felt the jagged cliff wall beside him. Its biting cold and coarse texture grounded him, anchoring him against the Full Dark. The wind howled, sharp and biting, carrying with it the metallic tang and the faint echoes of the battle, now swallowed whole by the night. Tightening his grip on the staff, Nagrak steeled himself and pushed forward, determined to return to what remained of his horde.