No.
Yu stared up at Imbiad.
Just … no.
No way in all the cursed, snow-rotten corners of the world.
No matter how much he tried to swallow it, Yu could not get behind that kind of boundless brotherly love.
He had doubted this suicide mission from the very first time he heard it. And that doubt had only grown sharper with every step up this mountain. It had never made sense. Not then. Not now. Not even with more people, more plans, more maps, more weapons. The idea was cracked straight through; you could build neither hope nor honesty on that. If a handful of fighters and one grieving brother were all it took to breach the Shaira, someone would have done it decades ago. Apparently, others had tried, way back. Every one of them, every challenger who went up the mountain had one thing in common: they never came back down.
So what, then? It was all … just a lie? Imbiad knew the raider-guards and had introduced himself just for show? They all skipped the reading and now just pretended guild procedures?
“Wait,” Yu said suddenly, as the thought snapped into place. “Sorry — You said some of us? Only some of you came through Noratellems? Not all of you together?”
“Have we not told you?” Imbiad said without turning. If anything, he turned further away from Yu. “Nion and Branwen came from the Snowtrail. Harrow and Bawal resided in the Barnstream region. I and the others came from the south. Harrow met us partway, near the riverlands. She guided us through the crossings.”
“Oh. Right. Yes, of course.”
But it did not help. It changed nothing. If anything, it made —
“Why are you asking me this, Yu?” Imbiad’s voice was sharp now, cutting against the wind. “Here and now? You were told of our origin and intent when we met. Or at least, over the course of our journey.”
“I … Well, I mean …”
Yes, he should know. They had told him — probably. At some point. But Yu had not been listening. Not back then. Not when all he could think about was how Tria had sold him out, when he had dumped all his anger for her betrayal onto them. Not when every step he took was poisoned by exhaustion and every word they spoke sounded like an accusation. Half the time, Yu had been too busy thinking up insults for them, rehearsing cutting replies they would never hear. The other half, he was fighting off the mountain sounds — those strange, distorted echoes that clung to him like frost in his ears. Trying to shut them out had twisted real conversations into noise.
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