Chapter 3: into the mountains embrace

Zoie awoke the next morning to the faint sound of birds singing outside the small cabin window, the soft light filtering in through the trees. The storm had passed, though the air still smelled of rain and wet earth. Her head was clearer now, though the lingering sensation of Dalton’s words from the night before clung to her like the fog in the valley.

*The gods have chosen you.*

The idea of it felt strange, too big for her to truly understand. Her connection to the old ways had always been more instinct than anything else—just whispers from the past, rituals she performed to honor the earth and its spirits. But Dalton… he spoke of it as though she were a part of something far larger than herself. Something ancient.

She pushed herself up, the motion slow but steady, and took in her surroundings. The cabin was small but cozy—rough-hewn walls, a thick stone fireplace in the corner, and a single window that looked out over a lush forest, green and endless. The air inside was warm, the fire having burned low overnight, but it was still early, and the quiet of the morning felt like a reprieve.

But as her feet hit the cold wooden floor, she felt the pull again—like a thread tugging her toward something. She glanced at the bed, where Dalton had placed her belongings the night before. They were still neatly folded, untouched. And yet, somehow, she knew he wasn’t here. She felt the emptiness in the air, like he had left without a sound.

Zoie stood, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders and heading for the door. The moment her hand touched the handle, the quiet was shattered by a sharp knock at the door. She froze, instinctively reaching for the small knife at her belt.

“Zoie,” came Dalton’s voice from the other side. His tone was gentle but laced with something she couldn’t quite read. "Are you awake?"

She exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders. She opened the door to find him standing there, his dark hair ruffled by the wind, his expression unreadable but steady.

“I’m awake,” she replied, trying to steady her voice. “You’re gone early.”

Dalton offered her a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We need to move. There’s something you should see.”

The words sent a chill down her spine. The pull in the air was stronger now, sharper, as though she were being drawn to something far away, something that could not be avoided.

“Where are we going?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew.

“The mountains,” Dalton said simply, his gaze turning toward the distant peaks rising in the horizon. “It’s time.”

Her pulse quickened at the mention of the mountains. They were beautiful and haunting, a place where few dared to tread unless they had a reason—an ancient place that had seen countless storms, wars, and secrets over the centuries. Something told her that whatever awaited her there was not just a part of her heritage, but of her fate.

“I’m ready,” she said, though her voice felt tight in her chest.

Dalton didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached down and took her hand gently, his touch warm and grounding. “It’s not going to be easy. But you need to know your place in all of this before we can move forward.”

Zoie didn’t argue. She had already seen the power in him, the way he seemed to move with a certainty that she envied. There was more to him than just the man who’d saved her life; he was a part of something much larger.

They set off together in silence, the world around them still, as though holding its breath. The air had changed overnight—sharper, colder, and filled with an unseen energy that seemed to reverberate in the earth beneath her feet.

As they climbed the trail toward the foothills, the dense forest opened up to reveal the sweeping vista of the Appalachian range. The mountains were vast, their peaks shrouded in mist and mystery. Zoie could feel the weight of them pressing down on her, a presence that wasn’t just natural, but alive with something ancient and powerful.

Dalton led her with quiet determination, his pace steady as they ascended the narrow, rocky path. The further they went, the less she could hear—no birds, no insects, no breeze through the trees. It was as if the world itself had gone silent, waiting. The only sounds were the crunch of their boots against the earth and the occasional whisper of Dalton’s voice guiding her.

“We’re getting close,” he murmured after a while, glancing back at her. His face was more serious now, his eyes dark with something Zoie couldn’t name. “There’s a place hidden up ahead. A house.”

“A house?” Zoie repeated, confused. “In the mountains?”

Dalton nodded. “It’s not just a house. It’s… a place of power. One of the old sanctuaries. There are things there that you need to see. Things you need to understand.”

The words only deepened the unease settling in her chest. The closer they got, the more she felt the pressure in the air, as though something was building, preparing to burst.

When they reached the clearing, Zoie stopped dead in her tracks. There, nestled among the trees, was a house. It was small, made of stone and timber, with a thatched roof that blended with the mountain. But there was something eerie about it—a sense of age that went far beyond its structure, a feeling that the house had stood there for centuries, forgotten by time.

Dalton turned to her, his gaze intense. “It’s time, Zoie. Everything you’ve felt, everything that’s been calling to you, is tied to this place.”

Zoie stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. As she moved closer to the door, a sudden rush of dizziness washed over her. The air seemed to warp, the world around her beginning to blur. The pressure in her head—intense and overwhelming—made her knees buckle. She reached out for the door, but her hand passed through it like smoke.

“Dalton—” she gasped, her voice shaky as the ground beneath her feet seemed to disappear.

But his face was gone now, and all that remained was the echo of his name, the pull of the storm, and the weight of something ancient and endless bearing down on her. The last thing she remembered before everything faded to black was the overwhelming sense that she had stepped into a place where the veil between the living and the dead was thin—so thin that she could feel the very breath of the gods on her skin.

And then, the world went dark once more.

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