{"The burden of responsibility is light compared to the burden of insufficiency, inability, or just plain failure." }
FREY'S POV
We finally reached the secret entrance to Blood Stone Mountain. Carved into the mountainside like a forgotten wound, it was nothing more than a jagged crevice choked with thorny vines and slick with old moss. But I felt it. The breath of something ancient leaking through the stone. Cold. Watching. Waiting.
Tor froze, and he stood still, shoulders tense, golden eyes locked on the darkness ahead like it had whispered something only he could hear. I stepped beside him, close enough that our arms brushed. Close enough to feel the war raging beneath his skin.
"Tor?" I asked, voice low. He did not answer. Did not move.
Behind us, Rou shifted on his feet. "What's wrong with him?"
"He smells it," Dante said. "Same as I do. Same as you will, eventually."
"I don't smell anything but rot," Rolan muttered, though he did not sound as confident as usual.
