The mountains stretched like sleeping giants, wind weaving through their peaks like it was humming an old song. The trio stood at the ridge, morning sun casting long shadows.
Coyote broke the silence.
"We're not strong enough."
Catherine raised an eyebrow.
"Hollowcast isn't some bandit camp," Coyote went on. "Even with all of us, we'd just get flattened."
Flin nodded slowly, but said nothing.
"We need to get stronger," Coyote said. "And now that I know there are demi-gods out there… we've got more paths than we thought."
He looked at both of them. "Let's split up. Find our own strength. Learn new things. Then—come back here. Two years from today."
Catherine exhaled, almost smiling. "Fine. But if you die before that, I'm raising you just to slap you."
They bumped fists. Then Catherine pulled them both in for a quick hug.
"I'll head east," she said. "There's a storm priestess near the cliffs. Maybe she owes the wind god a favor."
Flin hesitated. "I'm going with Coyote."
Catherine gave him a look. "You sure?"
Flin shrugged. "He'll probably walk into a dragon's mouth if I'm not there."
"True," Coyote muttered.
---
Later that day, Flin and Coyote trudged through winding mountain paths, snow dusting their boots.
Suddenly, Flin stopped. "Look."
Half-buried in moss and time stood an old shrine—splintered wood, a crumbling statue, and faded symbols carved into stone.
"The hell is this?" Coyote asked.
Flin stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Not sun. Not moon. Not wind either."
The wind around them stopped.
Dead silence.
---