The wind blew high, so high that the end was in sight.
There was Ada, sitting on a jagged rock, atop a place that seemed boundless. The Never-Ending Peak had no true summit: each step she took only raised it higher, as if the mountain grew with her determination. It was a place made for losing oneself in infinity, and for reflecting until the silence of one's own soul was more deafening than the roar of the storms.
Ada was alone. Unlike Katharina, who bathed in the living power of fire in a hellish lake of lava, Ada's environment was not a field of direct evolution. There was nothing she could absorb from it. There was no energy to devour, no strength to steal. There was only emptiness, the wind, the height, and the silence.
And perhaps, that was exactly what she needed.
