CHAPTER 68: MOUNTAIN’S VILLAIN
After Metatron left, immediately returning to the Archive Tower, Suryel’s fingers curled instinctively around the edge of the bench she sat on in the Eternal Dining Hall.
She secured the empty pages into her satchel and finished her meal.
It was a small motion.
But her grip said everything.
Helel’s grin, which had been loud and bright just moments ago, faded into something sharp and quiet, like a blade sliding back into its sheath.
Yael didn’t move much at all.
He didn’t need to.
His gaze stayed steady on her, but Suryel caught the slight tightening at the corner of his eyes.
The narrowing focus that meant he was already calculating what harm answered could mean if the Realm decided to take it personally.
She swallowed.
Then reached for her satchel again.
It didn’t resist.
It simply accepted her touch like it had been waiting for her hand specifically, like the thing had already decided she was its owner long before she ever chose it.
She looked at the two waiting brothers, confirming they finished eating, before asking. “Let’s go?”
They smiled encouragingly and nodded in agreement.
Yael, Helel and Suryel did not take the Bridge to leave the realm this time.
No glowing path.
No structure.
No reassurance.
Because in order to travel through time, one must traverse through its water, since… time is an ocean.
And the Eternal Sea stretched beneath them, vast and unreflective, a dark glass that remembered every crossing without ever revealing them.
Its surface did not ripple for their passing.
It never did.
It never cared.
It continued to rave in sharp, square waves below, violent and rhythmic like a machine that had forgotten it was meant to be beautiful.
The moment they crossed far into open air, the world changed texture.
The air tasted older.
Sharper winds cut into them, fast and less forgiving, stripping away comfort like it was a privilege none of them had earned.
Helel flew first, of course.
Because rules were suggestions, and gravity was a conversation he enjoyed interrupting.
He dropped through hurricane-like gusts with reckless ease, coat snapping open as he laughed once, the sound stolen immediately by the wind like the sky didn’t want anyone hearing joy up here.
Yael followed without comment.
His wings adjusted in smooth, efficient increments, each shift measured, each correction quiet.
His attention was already mapping trajectories, distances, threats that hadn’t yet announced themselves.
Suryel stayed between them, wind tugging at her hair, laughter caught halfway in her throat.
She had not meant to laugh.
It slipped out anyway, nervous and bright, like a coin spun on stone.
“So…” Suryel called, squinting into the distance as the Sea darkened below them, swallowing light like it resented being looked at.
Her voice strained against the wind, stubbornly refusing to disappear. “We are going on a trip to the past. No Bridge. No guideposts.”
She angled her wings to steady herself. “This feels… extremely on brand.”
Helel glanced back mid-descent.
Even upside down, even in chaos, he kept her in sight.
His grin sharpened, unapologetic, as he angled himself slightly to match her line.
“Relax!” He called, voice carrying through the wind like he was daring the storm to argue.
He lifted a hand as if enjoying or waving away the entire concept of danger. “Worst case scenario? We invented a new disaster!”
Suryel barked a laugh despite herself, wind ripping it into pieces. “That is not comforting!”
“It is honest!” Helel shot back, eyes gleaming like he’d just offered her a gift.
Yael adjusted his trajectory without looking at either of them, matching Suryel’s speed exactly.
Close enough to guard.
Far enough not to crowd.
“You’ll be fine.” Yael said gently, voice steady as stone.
The tip of his wing touched hers briefly. “We’re here.”
Suryel exhaled, her shoulders dropped a fraction.
“Right. I’ll be okay since you’re both here.” She smiled.
Then the wind hit again, hard enough to slap breath out of her lungs.
She corrected her wings fast, grit flashing through her.
Her eyes narrowed at the Eternal Sea like it had personally insulted her.
After the first stretch of ravaging air, Helel angled down toward a jagged rock formation rising from the Sea like a broken tooth.
A resting point.
Not a safe one.
But something.
They landed in staggered order.
Helel first, boots skidding across slick stone as if he’d done this a thousand times.
He rolled his shoulders, flexed his wings once like he was shaking off the storm, and looked pleased with himself, as if he’d conquered weather by sheer audacity.
Yael landed second, controlled and quiet.
The moment his feet touched stone, his gaze swept the horizon and the Sea below like it might decide to climb up and bite them.
His posture stayed calm, but his attention was a blade held ready.
Suryel touched down last.
Her knees bent, wings flaring to keep balance.
The rock was slick underfoot, cold enough to feel hostile.
It smelled like salt and old storms.
There were no birds…
No life on the isle.
Just the sound of the Eternal Sea raging around it like it resented the interruption.
Suryel opened her satchel, produced something small and wrapped, and shoved it into her mouth with determination.
Helel’s brows shot up, amusement returning like a spark. “You have time for a snack?”
Suryel chewed with purpose as she nodded.
“I call it stress management,” She replied around it.
Then, as if the statement wasn’t already reasonable, she added with grim sincerity, “Also if I die in a causality loop, I want my last experience to be… vaguely sweet.”
Yael’s mouth twitched.
Almost a smile.
Helel snorted like he approved far too much.
“Valid.” He said solemnly, as if she had delivered sacred doctrine.
He placed a hand to his chest dramatically. “If I die, I want it to be dramatic.”
Suryel swallowed, then shot him a look. “You already live dramatically.”
“That’s because…” He ran a hand through his hair.
“I’m talented.” Helel winked and Suryel giggled.
Yael gave him a flat stare that could have iced over a star.
Helel lifted both hands in surrender. “What? It’s true.”
They moved again, launching back into the sky.
And the Sea swallowed their pause without a ripple, like it had never happened, like even their rest was too insignificant to register.
They made two more short stops as the winds grew harsher.
Each one on abandoned stone and half-sunk islands that looked like they’d been forgotten mid-creation.
One had remnants of broken pillars, like a temple that had tried to exist and failed.
Another had carved steps leading nowhere, ending at a cliff face like a thought that had stopped halfway.
Time… litters.
Civilizations that didn’t survive the time’s indifference.
Each stop gave Suryel a chance to breathe, to steady her satchel, to check the parchments.
Each time, their warmth pulsed like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers.
Then time peeled back.
The Mundane Realm rose ahead, heavy with memory, stone, and weather.
And they landed in a distant past.
They flew over seven mountains in a pine forest, their slopes dark and watchful beneath a full moon that hung too bright, too attentive.
The air smelled of sap and cold earth.
Silence pressed close.
Not peaceful.
Not empty.
Listening.
Then came footsteps.
Three sets.
Crunching leaves.
Suryel reacted before thought caught up.
She slipped behind the nearest pine, motion clean and practiced despite the part of her that knew concealment was unnecessary here.
Her hand brushed bark, fingers curling as if grounding herself in something solid.
The tree felt real.
That was the problem.
Helel didn’t laugh, though he flagged it with a smirk.
That alone tightened something in her chest.
He dropped lightly beside her, boots touching pine needles without a sound, expression sharpening into focus rather than amusement.
His body angled instinctively, not toward the sound, but toward Suryel.
As if she was the thing he’d protect first.
Yael moved last.
He placed himself slightly forward and to her left, not blocking her view, not crowding her space.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
A shield that didn’t feel like a wall.
His gaze tracked the forest, already parsing distances, weight shifts, breathing patterns that hadn’t yet announced themselves.
Suryel felt the parchment in her satchel pulse.
Not hot.
Not urgent.
Certain.
“That one.” She said softly, pointing without looking.
The seventh mountain did not loom higher than the others.
It simply watched better.
They climbed.
The path wound, doubled back, vanished, reappeared where it shouldn’t.
Pine needles underfoot shifted strangely, like the ground itself couldn’t decide which direction was true.
Yael noted the lean of the trees, the way sound bent wrong around stone.
He didn’t comment.
He catalogued.
Helel, uncharacteristically quiet, walked just behind Suryel.
Close enough to intercept.
Far enough to let her choose.
Suryel’s satchel bumped against her hip with every step, and the parchment inside pulsed faintly like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to her.
Halfway up, the air changed.
It thickened.
Not just with fog.
But with story.
One of the seven parchments burned with warmth.
Suryel grabbed it.
The forest inhaled.
And history snapped its fingers.
They were inside the story.
Unseen.
Necessary.
The girl laughed too loudly.
That was the first crime.
She was older than her sister, old enough to know better, but still young enough to enjoy pretending she didn’t.
The moon painted everything silver, generous and cruel, and the mountains leaned closer to listen.
Her sister dragged her feet, curious, unafraid.
The father walked ahead, axe in hand, every step tight with unease.
The girl spoke anyway.
She told the story like a game.
Like gossip sharpened into myth.
A witch.
A hag.
A monster who drank youth with her wine and ground bones for beauty.
She made it funny.
She made it careless.
She wanted to scare her sister.
“She’s probably deaf and half-rotted by now.” The older girl said, voice bright with cruelty she didn’t yet understand.
She swung her arms dramatically, like she was acting on a stage only she could see. “She wouldn’t hear us even if we danced on her doorstep.”
And she giggled.
Her sister’s eyes widened, delighted and horrified in equal measure.
The father stopped.
His shoulders went rigid.
He turned halfway, face carved with the kind of fear that wasn’t for ghosts, but for consequences.
“Hush!” He snapped, low and sharp.
His grip tightened on the axe until his knuckles went pale. “Do not speak like that.”
The older girl rolled her eyes, still smiling, still careless. “It’s just a story.”
But the forest heard.
The mountain remembered.
History logged that too.
Suryel’s throat tightened.
She hated how familiar it felt.
That moment where something is said like it’s harmless.
Like it’s entertainment.
And then reality decides it deserves payment.
The witch arrived a week later.
Not summoned.
Answered.
She came beautiful in a way that felt intentional, like a rebuke.
Her dress moved without wind.
Her skin caught moonlight and kept it.
Her smile was polite.
Correct.
She spoke the truth gently.
“You called me.” She said. “I came.”
The girls’ mother couldn’t speak.
The younger sister blinked like she was looking at a goddess.
The father’s heart beat itself out of his chest, trying to reach the beautiful lady and warning him at the same time.
The older sister understood then.
Understood…
But that did not save her.
The witch’s red lips curled before she spoke, voice soft as a blade sliding into skin.
“Do I still look like a hag to you, little… storyteller?”
Steel sang.
The older sister’s throat opened.
She held her neck as warm spilled wet, too bright against moonlit.
Her view of the world tilted—
And she was not dying fast enough to be spared memory.
The story did not linger on her survival.
History rarely does.
It summarized.
She stumbled.
She bled.
She remembered her mother snapping out of the witch’s glamour.
Enough to buy time.
Enough to throw herself into the path of death.
So their family could be saved.
So at least her children could escape.
At least… one of her children.
The older sister collapsed into the river.
The water took her away.
Suryel, Yael and Helel flew.
Following from above until the girl’s body snagged into a rock at the side of the river.
Far away from home.
Suryel lunged.
Her body moved on instinct, rage tearing free before reason could catch it.
She reached, hands stretching for the girl like she could yank her out of death by sheer will.
Nothing happened.
Her fingers passed through moonlight and memory alike, slipping through the girl’s collapsing form as though through mist.
“No… why?” Suryel hissed, the sound torn from her chest, furious at the anchor, at the rule, at herself for knowing better and still trying.
Soon the girl rose.
Still alive.
Barely.
She staggered into a forest clearing, breath wet, hands slick and red.
The moon was full and bright, silent as if watching from above.
When the girl stumbled and collapsed again, Suryel dropped beside her without thinking, knees hitting damp earth.
Her fingers hovered uselessly over a wound she could not touch.
“She’s bleeding out.” Suryel said, voice shaking, eyes darting for solutions that did not exist.
Her hands curled like she could force the world to obey. “We can—”
“We can’t.” Yael said softly, shaking his head.
He knelt beside her, close enough that his presence anchored her, far enough that he didn’t cage her grief.
He didn’t reach for her, but his calm held her like a steady hand.
The gentleness in his voice hurt more than shouting would have.
Helel’s fists clenched as the girl’s family was hidden behind a thick expanse of forest from their view.
His jaw worked like he was chewing on violence, barely contained.
“He’s right…” Helel muttered, voice low and furious. “This is the past so we cannot change its… flow.”
Suryel’s jaw tightened. “Well, this past is disgusting.”
Fire flared.
Smoke coiled.
A mage found the girl.
He moved like someone used to finding bodies in the woods.
His eyes flicked once, not startled, not confused, merely acknowledging the strange pressure of gathered unseen witnesses watching in silent anguish.
Smoke and shadow shaped like mercy.
He healed her without questions.
He read what she wrote.
He nodded.
Training followed.
Quiet.
Methodical.
Purposeful.
Not vengeance.
Preparation.
The story liked this part.
It straightened here… Made sense of itself.
She returned years later.
The house was wrong…
It was rotten and dusty inside.
The father was alive, which was worse.
He pushed the witch’s winepress like an animal, chained, reduced to motion.
His eyes were empty, but his body still obeyed.
The witch drank what wine he made.
The younger sister remained untouched, which was worse still.
Preserved.
Claimed.
Marked for futures that were not hers.
Like the witch’s prized hen.
The older sister watched.
Calculated.
History leaned in, pleased.
This was the hinge.
This was where it wanted to lock.
They tried to escape.
But the door was blocked.
So they jumped.
Together.
Into the machine.
The story framed it as courage.
It was terror braided with love.
The wheel spun.
The floor vanished.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
Water rose in the cavern below where they fell.
Skeletons watched.
Hands slipped.
The younger sister was taken by a passage that did not care about promises.
And the older sister survived.
Again.
She emerged through a well.
The listening well in the pine forest.
The witch’s ear to the mountain’s mouth.
The girl cried.
Not because she lived…
But because she alone remembered.
History nodded.
Of course she did.
This was where the anchor tried to close.
It whispered its conclusion like a proverb.
Careless words summon consequences.
Monsters answer mockery.
Vengeance is earned by survival.
The parchment pulled hard.
Suryel staggered, breath catching like a hook in her ribs.
“No.” She said, voice sharp. “Say it properly.”
The witch appeared at the edge of the clearing.
Whole and radiant, lips stained dark with wine and victory.
She looked satisfied.
“She called me…” The witch said calmly, to no one, to everyone.
Her gaze slid across the clearing like she owned even the air. “I merely responded.”
Helel’s hand tightened on empty air.
He did not draw.
That restraint rang louder than steel.
He tilted his head slightly, smile lazy like he was about to say something funny.
But his eyes were cold.
“You punished a child for a story.” Helel said lightly, voice smiling, eyes not.
He took one slow step forward, like he was testing the witch’s patience the way you test a blade’s sharpness.
“That’s not justice. That’s vanity with good posture.”
The witch’s gaze flickered.
Just once.
A crack in her composure.
Her smile tightened, as if she didn’t like being named accurately.
Yael stepped forward last.
He didn’t look at the witch.
He looked at the mountain.
His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of something that didn’t need volume to be lethal.
“At what point…” Yael asked quietly.
“Did you decide listening absolved you of choosing?”
The forest shuddered.
The justification fractured.
Not erased.
Damaged.
The anchor collapsed inward, compressing screams, silence, beauty, cruelty into a single page that smoked faintly at the edges.
The mountain remained.
The witch did not vanish.
The father never unchained himself.
The sisters never returned.
Time resumed.
Ripples spread.
Stories would be told differently now.
Children would hesitate.
Laughter would catch.
Warnings would feel heavier than fear.
They stood at the base of the seventh mountain.
Suryel held the page like a file, not a relic.
“I don’t forgive her…” She said quietly. “But now I know what she is.”
Helel exhaled once, slow, dangerous. “Good. Knowing sharpens aim.”
Yael watched the treeline, eyes reflecting moonlight like a promise.
“And memory,” He said, “Still has witnesses.”
Suryel’s grip tightened on the parchment.
“It wasn’t the witch.” She continued, voice unsteady but clear.
“Not really. And it wasn’t just the girl either.”
She swallowed hard, like the words scraped on the way down.
“It was the moment… harm stopped being a wound, and became a job.”
Her throat hurt like she’d been screaming.
Maybe she had, inside herself.
“I didn’t become that…” She said.
Not as a boast.
As a realization.
Yael’s thumb pressed lightly between her shoulders.
Exactly where Metatron’s gaze had rested earlier.
“That’s why we’re here.” He said quietly.
Helel huffed a humorless laugh, eyes on the fading parchment like he was memorizing the shape of cruelty for later.
“Yeah.” He added. “Not to stop the past.”
He turned his head slightly, gaze cutting sideways toward Suryel, sharp with something like devotion and warning.
“But to make sure you don’t mistake it for your destiny.”
The parchment cooled.
Now with ink.
Suryel rolled it.
Secured it in her satchel.
The Mountain had asked its question.
And this time, the answer did not drown her.
