Still, the laughter kept her moving. Her steps grew firmer, her balance more stable. She could feel something flowing through her veins—energy, maybe? Or adrenaline. Either way, it carried her forward.
By eight thousand, she was drenched in sweat, but there was a rhythm to the pain now. Her heart pumped steadily, her breaths came measured. It hurt, yes—but not like before. It was bearable. Her body was learning.
She whispered between breaths, "If I survive this, I swear I'll never complain again."
"Record of previous similar statements: twelve," Bubu said.
"Stop exposing me," she gasped.
Glimora chirped, clearly enjoying her suffering far too much.
At nine thousand, Isabella realized something incredible—the mountain didn't feel as heavy anymore. The wind around her wasn't biting; it felt alive, brushing her skin like a soft current. The sound of her footsteps echoed differently, deeper, as if the ground itself acknowledged her.
