I was frozen—just for a second.
Not the kind of frozen that comes from the cold, but the kind that lives deeper, just behind the ribs. The kind that hits when something inside you knows: If you don't move now, you'll never move again.
My eyes locked on Lily. She was sliding—fast. Her skis kicked and scraped against the ice with a sharp, metallic screech. They weren't gliding anymore. They were dragging her—pulling her like she was caught in the teeth of something that wanted her gone.
And the edge was so close. Too close.
Time didn't slow, not the way they say in books. Everything sped up. My breath was gone. The wind in my ears was a scream. My own scream.
Move, Aria. MOVE.
I didn't think.
I lunged forward, throwing all my weight toward her. The world blurred. Snow blasted up against my goggles, cold and biting. My hand shot out, fingers stretched.
I caught her.
Just barely.
My fingers locked around her wrist like a lifeline. She was already half over the drop, her legs kicking in wild panic, her poles spinning away like twigs in a storm.
The weight of her yanked me forward hard. Pain shot through my shoulder, but I didn't let go.
"LILY!" I shouted. "HOLD ON!"
The slope beneath me was slick, almost vertical now. My skis buckled under the strain, scraping against the ice as I fought to anchor myself. But there was nothing to hold onto. No traction. Just a long, steep slide and the gravity of a nightmare.
"Don't let go," she breathed. Her voice was shaking.
"I won't," I said through clenched teeth, digging my free hand into the snowbank behind me.
With every ounce of strength, I pulled. Her body slid a little farther—and then stopped. I grunted, shifted my weight, and pulled again. My arms burned. My back ached. I could feel the tremble in my legs, my boots slipping inch by inch.
But I wouldn't let go.
One final shove and I managed to roll her up against my chest. Together, we slid backward—more falling than moving—until we slammed into a shallow dip behind a snowbank. Safe, for now.
She was breathing fast. Shaky. I held her, arms tight around her shoulders, feeling her tremble.
"You're okay," I whispered, even though I wasn't sure if it was for her or me.
She looked up, eyes glassy with tears she hadn't let fall. "You—God, Aria, you—"
"I'm fine," I said, forcing a grin, even though my body was screaming at me to lie down and never move again. "That was close, huh?"
She shook her head. Her lips were trembling now. "You saved me."
"Of course I did." I paused, catching my breath. "I am nothing if not stupidly heroic."
She laughed—a choked, broken laugh—but it was real.
And then, before I could feel the relief, before I could say something smug to lighten the mood, I felt it.
The snow beneath me shifted.
Not the kind of shift you expect. Not wind, not settling powder. This was deeper. A lurch. A give. Like something underneath had finally stopped pretending.
My arms slipped out from under me. My body tipped.
I turned my head toward Lily, and I saw her face—eyes wide in slow dawning horror.
The snow cracked behind me.
I was falling.
No scream. No dramatic slow-motion.
Just wind, and cold, and silence.
The kind of silence that wraps around you like a shroud.
My back hit the slope first. I slid—fast. Spinning, tumbling, bouncing off the frozen earth in sharp, painful hits. I saw flashes of sky, trees, sky again. I reached for anything—branches, rocks, even air. Nothing stopped the fall.
Somewhere in the chaos, I heard Lily scream my name, but it felt distant. A dream.
I was still falling when the thoughts came.
Not panicked thoughts. Strangely calm. Detached.
This is it.
This is my death.
And weirdly... I didn't feel fear. Not really. Just clarity. Everything slowed—not time, but the noise in my head. The worry. The doubt. Gone.
At least I saved her.
That mattered. That was enough.
I smiled, eyes closed against the snow whipping past me.
"This is how I go," I murmured, almost amused.
How dramatic.
How perfectly Aria.
And then—nothing.
Darkness.
Not black.
Deeper.
No sound. No cold. Just weightlessness.
Then a voice—low, steady. Male. Older. It didn't speak like someone finding me. It spoke like someone who'd been here all along.
"So… this is how it ends, Aria Clarke."
The words moved through the dark like wind through deep water. I couldn't see anything—but I felt it. Presence. Ancient and aware.
"You chose this path. Both paths. And neither will be easy."
Both?
I couldn't answer. My lips wouldn't move. But something inside me stirred. I knew that voice.
I had never heard it before in my life.
But I knew it.
"Your story is just beginning."
A warmth bloomed in my chest. Faint. Like the first crack of light under a door. I didn't understand what was happening. Not fully. But I believed him.
"I told you, Aria. This adventure was never going to be simple."
Still, I said nothing.
But something else did.
A word, soft and distant, came from my lips as though it belonged to someone else.
"…Both."
And the darkness took me whole.
Narrator:
Aria Clarke—reckless, impulsive, stubborn to the bone—had thrown herself into the abyss for someone else.
And the mountain had answered.
Not with mercy. Not with punishment.
But with a choice.
And as her body disappeared into the snow and silence, somewhere beneath it all, something ancient opened its eyes.
The girl had chosen.
Now the mountain would respond.