The Armanjyk Mountains weren't comfortable at the best of times.

  They were definitely not comfortable while trudging through them in the middle of the night, on the winter solstice. The cold had driven most animals into their burrows and safe places.

  They had more sense than most humans.

  But war doesn’t allow such luxuries. And this was no ordinary war.

  Q'a?i?—whose name, for simplicity’s sake, we’ll spell as Cassian—was one of the soldiers in this war. He knew he had no part in it, and he knew that, once it ended, no one would remember him.

  He knew he wasn’t important. And he was right.

  But since I’m too lazy to find anyone who is, Cassian will have to do.

  He was the kind of man you’d forget even if he stood right in front of you.

  Pale skin, dark hair, eyes like washed-out ink. He didn’t carry himself like a soldier—no pride, no glory, just motion. He moved like he was being dragged forward by obligation rather than purpose.

  If I had picked someone else, Cassian wouldn’t have minded. But I didn’t ask, and I don't care.

  There were six of them in total, 5 too many in Cassian's opinion. Recon work was meant to be quiet, and more people meant mroe mouths that could talk, hearts that could beat, and feet that could slip.

  But someone up the line thought that sending six people out was the perfect number, and so there they were, trudging through the biting cold, waiting for something, like a particulary miserable parade.

  At the front was Tovin, the unofficial leader. Not because of rank—he didn’t have the spine for real authority—but because he was loud, and loud people liked to walk ahead. Cassian figured he talked so much because silence scared him. Or maybe because he liked to pretend he knew what he was doing. He didn’t.

  Behind Tovin was Leira, sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued, the only one who moved like she wanted to be here. Her boots made no sound in the snow. She rarely spoke, which Cassian appreciated. She noticed things. Probably too much.

  Then there was Dorn, the big one. He carried twice as much gear as everyone else and breathed like an ox trying to learn to whisper. He hadn't said a word since the climb started—just grunted occasionally like conversation offended him.

  Garel was the green one, the kid. Couldn’t have been more than sixteen, if that. His armor looked like it had been scavenged off someone else's corpse, and his eyes had that wide, haunted look of someone still waiting to wake up from all this.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  And last, there was Iro. Older, maybe forty, maybe sixty—hard to tell under all the layers and scars. He muttered to himself a lot, which normally would’ve been worrying. But somehow, in this place, it felt appropriate.

  Cassian walked near the middle, because he liked seeing trouble before it reached him—but not being the one to trip the wire first. He watched their backs and said nothing. No one really talked to him, which suited him just fine.

  They were all strangers, even if they'd marched together for weeks now. That was how it worked in this war. Get sent out with people you wouldn't remember, on a mission no one would explain, to a place maps refused to label.

  None of them had any idea where they were going, or what they were doing. They had been sent out, almost like someone didn't want them to be safe and warm.

  "Feels colder than last time, doesn't it?"

  Cassian stopped in his tracks. He sighed.

  Tovin had started to speak, and that usually spelled disaster for the team.

  The rest of them paused too, although not all at once—some were too tired to notice, and others too used to the strange rhythm of the mountains. But Tovin? He was different. He thrived on words, like they could shield him from the cold or the inevitable. And tonight, his words felt louder than ever.

  “You feel that?” Tovin went on, his voice breaking through the howling wind. “Like the mountain’s... listening. Watching. Just waiting.”

  Cassian rolled his eyes. He waited for some more chatter from Tovin. He usually went on like this for about ten minutes, until either someone shut him up, or he lost interest.

  But nothing came.

  “You feel that?” Tovin went on, his voice breaking through the howling wind. “Like the mountain’s... listening. Watching. Just waiting.”

  Cassian rolled his eyes. He waited for some more chatter from Tovin. He usually went on like this for about ten minutes, until either someone shut him up, or he lost interest.

  But nothing came.

  Cassian glanced around, confused. It was too quiet. He stopped in his tracks, the sudden absence of Tovin's voice sending a strange chill down his spine. The wind howled, but there were no other sounds. No footfalls, no murmurs. Just the mountain, waiting.

  He turned his head slowly, scanning the group. Leira, Dorn, Garel, and Iro were still trudging ahead, oblivious, but Tovin… Tovin had disappeared.

  Cassian blinked, his mind racing for an explanation. Tovin had been at the front, just a few steps ahead. He hadn’t turned a corner, hadn’t vanished behind a snowbank. He was simply… gone.

  “Tovin?” Cassian called out, his voice louder than he intended, a sharp note of tension creeping into it.

  Nothing.

  He took a few steps forward, but the landscape around him remained unchanged—empty, silent, and still. He was certain Tovin had been right there. Hadn’t he?

  “Where the hell did he go?” Dorn muttered behind him, as if waking from a fog, his deep voice cutting through the silence. The others were starting to notice now, their heads swiveling, eyes scanning the empty stretch of mountain.

  Cassian's gaze locked onto the snow ahead. There were no signs of Tovin—no footprints leading off in another direction, no traces of a struggle. It was as if he'd simply melted into the snow.

  “Did anyone see him leave?” Cassian asked, though he knew the answer. No one had seen anything.

  Leira frowned, her sharp eyes narrowing as she stared at the empty space where Tovin had last stood. “Not a sound,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her words hung heavy in the air.

  Garel, the kid, looked terrified, his wide eyes darting around the surroundings like a rabbit caught in the open. “He... he couldn’t have just vanished, right? He was right there—I saw him.”

  But there was nothing. No trace. No sign.

  Cassian’s heart thudded in his chest, though his face remained as expressionless as ever. He wanted to say something, but his words were trapped in his throat. The mountain was silent. And Tovin was gone.