The mountains were trying to kill him.
Not in the obvious, monster-jumping-out-of-bushes way that Nox was used to. This was a slower, crueler death. The kind where your lungs burned like someone poured acid in them, where every step felt like dragging a boulder chained to each ankle, and where the two elf women walking ahead of you barely broke a sweat.
'I hate mountains. I hate elves. I hate everything.'
Nox stopped, hands on his knees, gasping for breath like a fish on dry land. The thin mountain air was doing things to his body that no monster ever managed. His legs trembled. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped off his nose and froze before it hit the ground.
Serian turned around, her silver hair catching the cold sunlight. Not even a hint of exhaustion on her face. "Are you alright, Nox?"
"Fine," he wheezed. "Just, you know, dying."
