One more step, one more boulder, one more climb and he would be there. But gods be damned if his limbs were tired, aching and throbbing, scorched to the bone with exhaustion. Castor's strength pushed him to limits that would kill a man, render him completely numb to the rest of the world, and the gauntlets that encased his hands ground into his bones, burning him to press on, even as the icy wind lashed at the exposed flesh of his arms and face. Yet it was a welcomed sensation, one he relished as the sky darkened, the sun hidden behind an ash cloud of these fiery mountains.
What he was searching for was hidden somewhere in the heart of these mountains and he would brave the very heat of dragonfire to get what he sought. The third relic, the rotted petrified heart of a man who died long ago. The visions that haunted him in restless sleep, screams, tools, blades, calipers that ripped open his chest and pried out the organ that they had hoped to keep hidden away from the rest of the world, that it's terror might never see the light of day again.
And they almost succeeded.
Castor pulled himself over the precipice of the mountain ledge, the wind howling in his ears and crawled to the top of the mountain path, dropping to the rock and gravel, exhausted beyond all reason until he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Someone...something was coming and panic immediately snapped in his mind as he pushed himself up and looked for a place to hide, anywhere but be exposed. A few trees sprouted here and there, surviving somehow in the ash, and he ducked behind one of them. How could there be someone near in this place that was perpetually devoid of life? But perhaps he was more ignorant than he should have been.
Whoever they were, perhaps luck would be on his side and they would simply bypass him...but that had never been the case. Whoever they were, they were going to have hell to pay for interrupting him, so Castor moved from his space by the tree and howled out to the winds: "WHO GOES THERE?"
