The wind howled like a dying beast.
Priya could barely see two steps ahead. The storm had descended on them without warning, turning the mountain into a swirling nightmare of snow and ice. Each gust was a knife slicing into her skin, each breath a struggle against the freezing air.
"Manav!" she called out, but her voice was swallowed by the storm.
A flash of lightning split the sky, and for a brief moment, she saw him—Manav, just a few feet ahead, his cloak whipping wildly, his body barely bending under the fury of the storm. He wasn't panicking. He wasn't even slowing down.
She, on the other hand, was losing feeling in her limbs.
Her fingers were numb, her legs sluggish. The altitude was already pressing down on her like an invisible force, and now this storm—this thing—was trying to end them.
Manav finally stopped and turned. His face was expressionless, but his eyes scanned her.
"We need to find shelter," he said.
Priya wanted to scream. No shit. But she only nodded, her lips too frozen to speak.
The mountain was cruel and indifferent. They had fought beasts, killed monks, and endured relentless cold, but this—this felt different. This wasn't something they could fight.
This was something older.
Something angry.
Through the blinding snow, Manav spotted something—a dark shape half-buried in ice.
"Ahead," he said.
Priya stumbled toward him, barely able to keep up. As they drew closer, the shape revealed itself—an ancient stone structure, half-collapsed but still standing. Carvings lined the cracked walls, but the storm made them impossible to read.
It looked like a temple.
Priya didn't care what it was. She just needed to get out of the storm before her body gave up.
Manav pushed the heavy stone doors, and with a groan of protest, they opened just enough for them to slip inside.
The howling wind died instantly.
Inside, the air was thick, cold, and wrong.
Priya exhaled sharply, the warmth of her breath visible in the dim light. She slumped against the wall, her entire body shaking.
Manav, as always, looked fine.
She hated that.
"How did you—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "Never mind."
Manav ignored her, stepping further into the ruins.
The temple was large, its stone walls covered in ancient symbols. Statues lined the corridor—tall, faceless figures carved from black stone. They loomed over them, silent and watching.
Priya's chest tightened.
Something felt wrong.
"Do you know what this place is?" she asked.
Manav ran a hand along the carvings. "A ruin."
"Brilliant insight."
He didn't react to her sarcasm. His fingers traced one of the symbols—a spiraling shape that seemed to move under the flickering torchlight.
"This place is old," he murmured. "Older than the monks. Older than the carvings we saw before."
Priya swallowed, rubbing her arms for warmth. The storm outside was still raging, but the silence inside was worse.
It felt like the walls were holding their breath.
She turned toward the statues again. Something about them bothered her.
They weren't just faceless.
They were worn down, almost like they had been erased.
"Manav," she said slowly, "I don't think we should be here."
He barely acknowledged her. "We don't have a choice."
She wanted to argue. To say that maybe dying in the storm was better than whatever this place was. But before she could, the ground shifted beneath them.
A low rumble.
A whispering sound in the dark.
Priya's pulse spiked. "Tell me you heard that."
Manav's eyes narrowed. He reached for his dagger.
Another rumble.
Another whisper.
The statues were moving.
No—they were breathing
The shadows twisted.
The faceless statues came to life.
Priya took a step back, gripping the frozen wall behind her. The statues—these things—turned their heads toward them, slow and deliberate. Their bodies creaked like old wood, and their movements were unnatural, like something forgotten trying to remember how to exist.
Then—they spoke.
Not in words.
Not in a voice.
But in thoughts.
"You do not belong here."
Priya's vision blurred. Her head ached. It was like a thousand whispers crawling inside her skull.
Manav tensed, his dagger ready, but he didn't attack.
"Turn back."
The voices weren't angry. They weren't even hostile.
They were warning them.
Priya swallowed hard. "Manav, we should—"
"No." His voice was sharp, unyielding. "We keep moving."
The air grew thicker. The statues stepped forward, blocking their path.
"You seek what must not be taken."
Priya's heart slammed against her ribs.
She grabbed Manav's arm. "Listen to them," she hissed. "We don't know what—"
Manav moved.
Fast.
His dagger sliced through the closest statue's throat.
It should have been stone. It should have been solid.
But it bled.
A deep, black liquid spilled from the wound, steaming in the cold air. The statue staggered back, its body twitching, its faceless head turning toward Manav.
Then it screamed.
The ruin shook.
The storm outside roared louder, as if the mountain itself had awakened.
Priya's breath hitched. "You—"
The statues rushed forward.
Manav didn't hesitate. He moved like a ghost, his dagger cutting through them, black blood splattering across the stone floor.
Priya backed away, her body frozen—not from the cold, but from fear.
These weren't monks.
These weren't beasts.
These were something else.
Something older.
Something they should not have touched.
Manav stood amidst the fallen figures, his dagger dripping with the black liquid. His breath was steady. His eyes were blank.
Priya's hands were shaking.
The whispers were gone.
The ruins fell silent again.
Manav stepped over the bodies and kept walking.