Chapter 23: The Summit

　　The climb into the Stone Teeth was a slow, agonizing ascent into a world of wind and rock. The air grew so thin it felt like breathing shards of glass. Each step was a battle against gravity and exhaustion. They moved in single file, a chain of silent, suffering figures connected by a shared, desperate will. Caden’s world narrowed to the sight of Violet’s boots on the path ahead, the sound of his own ragged breath, and the burning in his thighs. He was a man of ink and parchment, and this mountain was trying to grind him into dust.

　　Violet, ahead of him, never faltered. She moved with a grim, relentless rhythm, her small frame bent against the slope. Caden saw her pause occasionally, not from fatigue, but to study the rock formations, her gaze tracing the veins of quartz in the granite, the way the wind had sculpted the stone. She was reading the mountain, learning its language of survival. The girl who had once sought refuge in books was now finding her text in the very bones of the earth.

　　They climbed through the night, guided by the cold light of the stars—the same stars painted on the cave walls, their ancient patterns a silent, constant guide. There was no path, only a relentless upward scramble over loose scree and jagged outcrops. The darkness was a blessing and a curse; it hid the terrifying drops on either side of the narrow ridges they traversed, but it also hid the way forward.

　　Near dawn, they reached a narrow pass between two towering fangs of rock. The wind screamed through the gap, a furious, freezing gale that threatened to tear them from the mountain and hurl them into the abyss. They had to crawl on their hands and knees, clinging to the rock, their fingers numb with cold.

　　As the first rays of the sun painted the highest peaks in hues of rose and gold, they crested the pass. And there, they stopped, stunned into silence.

　　They were not at the summit of a single peak. They were on a high, windswept plateau that stretched between the Teeth. And it was not empty.

　　Before them lay the ruins of a city.

　　It was not a city of stone blocks and grand arches. It was a city carved into the mountain itself. Doorways and windows were openings in the sheer rock faces. Rope bridges, long since rotted away, had once connected ledges and dwellings high above the plateau floor. Terraces, now overgrown with hardy, wind-stunted grasses, stepped down the cliffs. It was a place of breathtaking ingenuity, a testament to a people who had not just survived in this harsh place, but had thrived.

　　“Gods,” Rhiannon breathed, her voice full of awe. “What is this place?”

　　Caden walked forward, his exhaustion forgotten in a surge of scholarly wonder. He ran a hand over a wall, feeling the tool marks where ancient hands had painstakingly hollowed out a home. “The Forgotten Tribes,” he whispered. “This must have been one of their strongholds. Aerie.” The name came to him from a half-remembered scroll. “A place to watch the stars, to be closer to the sky.”

　　The scale of the ruin was immense. It spoke of a civilization, not just a nomadic band. But it was also a graveyard. The silence was absolute, broken only by the mournful wind. Whatever had happened here, the people were long gone.

　　Xaden’s voice, sharp with urgency, cut through the wonder. “We can’t stay here. We’re exposed.” He was right. On this high plateau, they would be visible for miles.

　　But Violet was not listening. She was staring at a central feature of the ruins: a great, circular amphitheater carved into the floor of the plateau. At its center stood a massive, flat-topped stone, like an altar. She walked towards it, her steps slow and deliberate, as if drawn by an invisible force.

　　Caden followed, his archivist’s instincts humming. The others fanned out, searching for shelter, for water, for any sign of food.

　　As Violet approached the central stone, she stopped. Carved into its surface were not stars or animals, but lines. Deep, precise grooves forming a complex pattern.

　　“It’s a map,” she said, her voice filled with a strange certainty.

　　Caden leaned closer, studying the grooves. He had seen maps like this before, in the oldest archives. “It’s a ley-line map,” he corrected softly, his heart beginning to pound. “It shows the flows of magical energy beneath the earth.” His finger traced a major line that ran from the Stone Teeth westward. “This one… it leads to the very heart of the continent. To…”

　　“Calldyr,” Violet finished, her eyes wide. “The Royal Archives are built on a confluence of ley-lines. That’s why the magic there is so strong. That’s why it’s the repository of truth.” She looked from the ancient map to Caden, a fierce, brilliant light in her eyes. “They didn’t just leave us a path through the wilderness. They left us a path of power.”

　　The implications were staggering. The Forgotten Tribes had not just understood the land; they had understood the very energy that flowed through it. Their entire civilization might have been built upon this knowledge.

　　Just then, Garrick called out from the edge of the ruins. “Over here! A spring!”

　　They found him standing at the entrance to a low cave, from which came the sweet, life-giving sound of dripping water. Inside, the cave opened up into a series of chambers, sheltered from the wind and surprisingly warm. It was a perfect refuge.

　　As they drank their fill from a clear, ice-cold pool, a sense of profound, unexpected hope settled over the group. They had reached the summit, and instead of a barren peak, they had found a signpost. A legacy.

　　That night, sheltered in the ancient stone city, Caden sat with Violet, looking out over the starlit plateau. The wind howled outside, but they were safe.

　　“They’re not forgotten,” Violet said softly, gazing at the silent, carved dwellings. “We remember them.”

　　Caden nodded. “And they are guiding us.”

　　The climb had almost broken them. But the summit had given them not just a view, but a vision. They were no longer lost fugitives. They were following a trail of power laid down by a lost world. The path to Calldyr was no longer just a desperate gamble; it was a pilgrimage to the source. The fallen knight and the general’s daughter were walking a road paved by kings of stone and starlight, and with every step, the truth felt closer, more tangible, than ever before.

　　Chapter 23 - End