I reached the foothills of the Shorkath Mountains as twilight painted the sky in deepening shades of purple. My war frame had maintained maximum velocity for hours, hydraulics whirring and mana conduits pulsing as I carried Arctur through Lathan's blighted landscape.

The undead posed minimal threat to me as they were shambling creatures with decayed muscles and limited cognitive function. Their tracking capabilities proved rudimentary; a simple velocity differential was sufficient to evade them. I'd calculated optimal paths through their hordes, never slowing, never stopping.

"You can put me down now," Arctur mumbled, his voice strained from hours of being cradled in my tendrils.

I scanned the area, selecting a sheltered spot between several ancient pines. This location provides adequate cover while maintaining multiple escape vectors, I noted, gently lowering him to the ground.

His scales had taken on a concerning grayish tint around his wound. The bleeding had slowed but not stopped entirely, dark fluid still seeping through his makeshift bandage.

Your body temperature is decreasing, I observed. A fire would facilitate thermal regulation and potentially accelerate your healing process.

"No fires," he hissed, settling against a tree trunk. "We don't know who's following us. Could be more of Chosun's men. Could be something worse."

I began gathering kindling anyway. The probability of pursuit has decreased with distance. The benefits outweigh-

"I said no," Arctur insisted, wrapping his arms around himself. "I'll be fine. A little cold never killed anyone."

That statement is patently false, I began, recalling historical data on hypothermia. Hundreds of people die every-

A soft snore interrupted my statistical counterpoint. Arctur had fallen asleep mid-sentence, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion and blood loss.

I considered waking him but calculated that rest would provide greater healing benefit than continued discussion. Instead, I extended a tendril, carefully draping my widow's cloak over his sleeping form.

My five scout spiders scuttled from various points on my body where they had clung to when we escaped Calsor. They spread out in precise formation, climbing trees and rocks to establish a perimeter. Their sensors would detect any approaching threat long before it reached us.

I positioned myself between Arctur and the most likely approach vector, tendril-weapons uncoiled and ready. The night stretched before me, long hours of vigilance ahead. Unlike my organic companions, I required no rest, no respite.

The stars emerged overhead, cold points of light in the vast darkness. I would stand watch until dawn.

Morning broke with streaks of crimson slicing through the gray sky. Arctur stirred, his color noticeably improved. The resilience of his species was remarkable: wounds that would have killed a human were already showing signs of healing.

"Let me change your bandages," I said, my tendrils delicately unwrapping the blood-stiffened cloth. The wound looked cleaner, the edges beginning to knit together.

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"I can walk now," he insisted, attempting to rise before wincing sharply.

Your assessment is optimistic but inaccurate, I observed. Carrying you will increase our travel efficiency, so don't argue.

He growled but didn't resist when my tendrils gently lifted him. "This is humiliating."

Pride is pointless when survival is the priority.

We traveled steadily through the day, leaving the cursed lands of Lathan behind. By sunset, the mountains loomed before us, massive sentinels of stone against the darkening sky. I selected another defensible position and settled Arctur against a boulder.

The temperature had dropped significantly. Arctur's body shivered involuntarily, scales rattling softly.

A fire is now non-negotiable, I stated, already gathering wood.

This time he didn't argue. "Fine. But keep it small."

The flames cast dancing shadows across his face as he extended his clawed hands toward the warmth. "Tomorrow we enter the mountains proper," he murmured before sleep claimed him again.

Dawn revealed a transformed landscape, frost silvering every surface. Arctur directed me toward a narrow path winding between towering peaks that stretched impossibly high, their summits lost in clouds.

"The ancients carved these paths," he explained as we entered the mountain range. "Before the humans came, before the gods."

The mountains surrounded us in a panorama of jagged majesty. Our path mercifully followed the lower elevations, sparing us the biting winds that howled around the higher peaks. Even so, the air grew thinner, colder as we progressed.

Weeks passed. By the second, Arctur had recovered enough to walk short distances, though I still carried him through difficult terrain. His determination was admirable, if occasionally foolish.

When the first snow fell during our fifth week, I immediately recognized the threat. That night, I tracked and killed a mountain bear, using Assembly to transform its hide into a fur-lined cloak.

Here, I said, presenting it to him the next morning. Your thermal regulation requires assistance.

He wrapped it around his shoulders with genuine gratitude. "Thank you. I had to abandon my winter gear when we fled Chosun."

I extended a tendril, materials flowing between my grasp. By nightfall, I'd crafted him insulated gloves, a jacket reinforced with water-resistant fibers, and boots designed specifically for his reptilian feet.

"You continue to surprise me, Widow," he said, examining the craftsmanship.

Survival is not surprising. It is necessary, I told him. And my name is Vardiel.

Another week passed as we trekked through the mountains' unforgiving terrain. The snow deepened with each day, pristine white fields broken only by our solitary trail. I continuously cycled mana through my war frame's conduits. It was a necessary precaution. The delicate hydraulics and pneumatic systems were vulnerable to freezing temperatures; even minor frost accumulation could cause catastrophic failure in my joints or sensory apparatus.

While Arctur slept beneath a rocky overhang, I hunted. His metabolism had slowed in the cold, but his body still required sustenance. I'd become efficient at tracking mountain goats through the snow, my tendrils perfectly suited for navigating the treacherous slopes where they grazed.

The silent ping from Scout Spider Number 3 interrupted my pursuit of a particularly fat specimen. Its signal pattern indicated discovery rather than danger, something of interest rather than immediate threat. I abandoned the hunt, moving silently across the snow-covered rocks toward the spider's location.

Number 3 had wedged itself into a crevice overlooking a sheltered depression between massive boulders. I extended my consciousness through our connection, seeing what it saw: the unmistakable remains of a campsite.

I descended to investigate, my tendrils carefully analyzing the evidence. Ash from a fire pit still held warmth at its center. Indentations in the snow indicated at least three beings had rested here. Most telling were the food scraps: dried meat with human preservatives, not the kind any mountain predator would carry.

The site couldn't be more than six hours old.

I collected one of the discarded wrappers, examining the script printed on its surface. Kingdom of Silk military rations. Elite units, judging by the quality.

So much for your assurances about these paths being unknown to humans, I said when I returned to Arctur.

He bolted upright, instantly alert. "What?"

I displayed the wrapper between two tendrils. Recent campsite. Six hours old at most. Three individuals. Military. We are not alone in these mountains.

Arctur's scales rippled in what I'd come to recognize as his expression of concern. "That's... impossible. These routes are sacred to my people. No human should know them."

Evidently, I replied, someone does.

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