the morning after the leviathan was gone, the mountain felt too still.
not silent still. as if towlin itself was holding its breath. the sky above shimmered faintly, aurora threads of green and silver twisting through the pale dawn. lewis's body ached; every muscle felt hollow. hendrick moved slower than before, ribs bound beneath his jacket, his breath shallow from the thin air.
daniel drifted beside them, silent for once. he had not spoken since the leviathan vanished. his three eyes were half-lidded, distant, as though he were listening to something they could not hear.
the basin behind them was now frozen solid again no sign of the lake, no trace of the thing that had almost devoured them. even their footprints from the day before were gone.
they continued climbing. the slope narrowed into a series of jagged ridges where snow had fused into glasslike ice. lewis's crampons scraped, each sound too loud, echoing endlessly.
"we're close," hendrick murmured, though he didn't sound sure.
then a sound. faint, brittle, like a cry beneath the ice.
they stopped.
hendrick knelt, placing a gloved hand to the ground. "did you hear that?"
lewis joined him, pressing his ear against the frozen surface. for a moment, there was nothing then a muffled voice, wet and faint, like something breathing under the glacier.
"…help…"
hendrick recoiled. "holy there's someone under there!"
daniel's eyes opened fully now. he said nothing, but the fur along his neck rippled slightly.
"we can't just ignore it," lewis said, already pulling out his axe. he began striking the ice where the sound was clearest, fragments scattering. hendrick joined in. daniel hovered above, tail swaying slowly.
after ten minutes of hacking through layered frost and trapped air bubbles, they reached a pocket a small pool of meltwater framed by fractured rock.
inside it, half-pinned beneath a slab of ice, was a fish.
not large perhaps the length of a man's forearm but vivid: scales gleamed with a strange metallic sheen, like molten silver brushed with faint rose. its gills fluttered weakly. its eyes impossibly human in their expression blinked up at them.
"please," it said.
both men froze.
"did it did it talk?" hendrick whispered.
"yes," said daniel softly. his tone carried a shadow of something unusual for him not amusement, not mockery, but recognition.
lewis blinked, stunned. "you can talk?"
"i can," the fish replied, voice calm, almost melodic. "and i can die, too, if you leave me here much longer."
hendrick reacted first. he reached into the freezing pool, pushing away shards of ice, prying the trapped rock loose. the water bit his skin through the gloves; the cold was sharp enough to numb instantly. together, they lifted the creature out and laid it in a shallow depression filled with snow.
the fish gasped once, twice, then steadied.
"thank you," it said quietly. "you've spared me from a long, pointless end."
lewis crouched closer, still panting. "what… what are you doing here? there's no water this high. you shouldn't exist."
"shouldn't i?" the fish asked, eyes glinting faintly. "perhaps that's true for many things on this mountain."
daniel floated closer now, watching in silence.
"what should we call you?" hendrick asked.
"names are… transient," the fish said, its voice oddly soothing. "but if you need one call me saumon."
lewis smiled faintly through exhaustion. "saumon. fitting."
daniel's tail flicked once. "is it?" he murmured under his breath.
they carried saumon in a small insulated flask filled with snowmelt. hendrick tied it carefully to his pack, ensuring it stayed upright. despite the absurdity of it two half-delirious climbers carrying a talking fish up a mountain that makes nightmares real it somehow felt right.
as they ascended, saumon spoke occasionally, his voice muffled but always calm.
"the air thins," he said once. "but it's not the lack of oxygen that kills you first. it's the loss of clarity. your mind begins to betray you, showing you what you fear most."
hendrick snorted softly. "we've seen enough of that already."
"have you?" the fish asked. "the mountain hasn't yet shown you what you truly fear. only what you remember fearing."
daniel's gaze turned toward saumon, unblinking. "you talk as if you've walked this mountain before."
"walked? no." saumon's voice rippled faintly, like sound traveling through deep water. "but i've seen many who did. some reached the top. most didn't."
"and those who didn't?" lewis asked quietly.
"they're still here," saumon said simply. "just not in ways you'd recognize."
a hush followed. even the wind seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of snow shifting beneath their boots.
hendrick shook his head, half-laughing. "you talk like you've been watching people die for ages."
"perhaps i have," saumon said.
daniel's third eye flickered a brief pulse of light that only he seemed to notice. his voice was almost a whisper: "oh. it's you."
lewis looked at him. "what did you say?"
"nothing," daniel replied smoothly. "just thinking aloud."
the climb continued.
as night fell, the temperature plummeted past reason. frost formed inside their tent seams; every breath crystallized before vanishing. lewis could barely move his fingers. hendrick lay half-awake, muttering through chattering teeth.
in the faint glow of their lantern, saumon's form shimmered within his container motionless, eyes open. daniel hovered just outside the tent flap, his fur lit by the aurora.
"why are you following them?" saumon's voice came softly through the cold.
daniel turned slightly, eyes narrowing. "why are you?"
a faint ripple crossed the surface of the water like a smile made of motion. "because every story ends with me, daniel. you know that."
daniel's reply was delayed longer than it should have been. "not this one," he said quietly. "towlin doesn't allow endings. only revelations."
"revelations," saumon murmured. "that's just another word for decay, dressed in hope."
the air outside the tent crackled faintly static in the frozen air. daniel closed his eyes, and for the briefest instant, his shape flickered his outline fracturing like glass before reforming.
inside the tent, lewis stirred. "daniel?"
"sleep," daniel said softly. "the hill is quiet tonight."
but far beneath the ice they had left behind, something ancient moved again not in anger, but in acknowledgment.
and the mountain whispered through the wind: nothing climbs without consequence.