The mountain rose ahead of them like a wound in the sky.

  Black stone slicked with old lava.

  Broken pathways snaking upward in crumbling ledges and razor-thin trails.

  Ash fell like snow, clinging to their clothes, their hair, their skin.

  Astrid dragged a sleeve across her forehead, smearing more soot across her face.

  "Well," she rasped, surveying the impossible climb. "This looks inviting."

  Beside her, Kurai adjusted the strap across his chest, his golden eyes narrowed against the biting wind.

  For once, even he looked strained.

  "Stay close," he said, voice rougher than usual.

  Astrid smirked, pulling the battered strap of her pack tighter against her good shoulder — biting down against the stab of pain in the injured one.

  "You planning to start sprinting or something?"

  He didn’t answer — just started up the broken trail, boots crunching over loose gravel.

  Astrid followed, heart hammering.

  The air thinned as they climbed, hot and dry and sharp enough to sting her throat.

  Every step felt heavier than the last.

  The ground shifted treacherously underfoot, forcing her to plant each boot carefully.

  After a while, her world narrowed to three things:

  - The rhythm of Kurai’s footsteps ahead of her.

  - The ache in her legs.

  - The endless, searing wind.

  She muttered under her breath, barely aware she was doing it.

  "Left foot. Right foot. Good footing. No sudden moves."

  It wasn’t much.

  But it kept her focused.

  It kept the fear at bay.

  She glanced up.

  The summit loomed, shrouded in smoke — but no closer.

  She frowned, trudging onward.

  ---

  The hours bled together.

  Kurai kept glancing back at her, his mouth tight, his brows furrowed.

  "Don’t," Astrid snapped, batting his hand away. "I'm fine."

  Kurai's jaw tightened. "You keep saying that."

  Astrid gritted her teeth and pushed forward.

  The summit taunted them — distant, unchanging.

  "Are we walking in circles?" Astrid muttered. Her voice was barely audible over the wind.

  Kurai didn’t answer immediately. Then: "Feels like it. Maybe it’s enchanted. Testing us."

  The landscape around them shifted almost imperceptibly — like they were walking in circles.

  Just ahead, for a breath, Astrid thought she saw a door—wooden, blue, familiar—half-sunken into the stone. She blinked, heart skipping. It was gone. Only ash and basalt remained.

  "Did you see that?" she asked. Kurai shook his head once, eyes narrowed. "The mountain’s playing tricks."

  Frustration clawed at Astrid's chest.

  Her muscles screamed.

  Her injured shoulder throbbed with every jolt and slip.

  Kurai grew quieter, more grim.

  Not out of anger — out of something worse.

  Fear.

  ---

  They reached a narrow ledge.

  Kurai went first.

  Astrid followed, her steps slipping on loose gravel.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Halfway across, the stone gave way beneath her boot.

  She yelped, scrabbling for purchase as a small rockslide roared down the mountainside.

  Kurai spun, grabbing her wrist in a flash.

  For a heartbeat, she dangled over nothing — the dead volcanic plains sprawling dizzyingly far below.

  He dragged her back with a grunt, slamming both of them against the solid wall of stone as rocks tumbled past.

  They sat there, coughing, dust and blood streaking their skin.

  Astrid pushed herself upright, swiping at her forehead.

  "Well," she rasped. "That was a close one."

  Kurai didn’t laugh.

  He was staring at her shoulder.

  At the blood blooming across her torn sleeve.

  ---

  "Astrid," he said, low and dangerous.

  She blinked, dazed. "It’s fine. I just—"

  "No, it’s not fine!" he snapped, louder than she’d ever heard him.

  Astrid flinched, stunned.

  Kurai stepped closer, fists clenched, practically vibrating with fury.

  "Gods damn it," he rasped. "You’ve bloody opened it up. Why do you insist on pushing yourself, you just make things worse."

  Astrid stared at him, throat tightening.

  "I'm sorry," she muttered, the words barely a whisper. Tears blurred her vision.

  He's right I just mess everything up, I’m not strong like him.

  I’m slowing him down.

  I’m useless.

  At the thought the tears came streaming down, she was so over it. Over feeling weak compared to him. Trying to keep up. Making things worse.

  Kurai’s face shifted the second the tears started.

  The anger bled out of him so fast it left him staggering, like he’d been punched.

  "Astrid," he said again, but it wasn’t sharp this time.

  It was broken. Rough. Afraid.

  She turned her face away, scrubbing uselessly at the tears with the heel of her hand.

  "I’m sorry," she choked again. "I’m just— I’m tired, and I’m hurt, and— and you’re right. I’m slowing you down. I’m not—"

  "Stop," Kurai cut in, low and firm.

  Astrid flinched like she expected another blow.

  But when she risked a glance at him, his hands were half-raised — helpless, shaking slightly.

  "You’re not slowing me down," he said, quieter now. "You’re the reason I’m still moving."

  Astrid blinked at him, stunned.

  "You think I’d be doing any of this if it wasn’t for you?" Kurai rasped. "I would’ve given up days ago."

  He took a slow breath, like the words cost him something to pull free.

  "You’re not weak. You’re not useless. And you're sure as hell not a burden."

  He stepped closer, slowly, until there was barely a hand’s breadth between them.

  "You matter," he said, voice hoarse. "To me."

  Astrid’s throat locked.

  The pain in her shoulder, the exhaustion in her bones — it was all still there.

  But under it, cutting through the weight of it all, was something fierce and bright.

  Hope.

  Kurai hesitated, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air between them — as if he wanted to touch her but didn’t know how.

  Astrid made the decision for him.

  She stepped into him, leaning her forehead lightly against his chest.

  He stiffened, startled — then very slowly wrapped his arms around her, careful not to jostle her shoulder.

  They stood there, battered and bruised, holding each other up against the weight of the mountain.

  No more arguments.

  No more bravado.

  Just the quiet, stubborn fact that neither of them was alone anymore.

  After a while, Kurai shifted back, his hand resting lightly on her uninjured arm.

  "Let me fix your bandage," he said, voice still rough but steady.

  Astrid nodded, swiping the back of her hand across her face one last time.

  "Yeah," she whispered. "Okay."

  Kurai pulled a clean strip of cloth from his pack, his fingers deft but gentle.

  Astrid sat stiffly, letting him work, her shoulder burning with every careful touch.

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

  Only the hiss of the wind through the broken stones filled the silence.

  Finally, Kurai spoke — low, rough.

  "You need to stop being so hard on yourself," he said, tightening the bandage with careful fingers. "You’re a lot stronger than you think."

  Astrid let out a shaky breath, looking down at her scraped, dirt-streaked hands.

  "Not like you," she muttered. "You're not even struggling. You’re...you’re just built for this."

  She didn’t mean it to sound bitter.

  But it did.

  Kurai went still.

  For a moment, she thought maybe she’d pushed too far — that he’d pull away again.

  But he didn’t.

  He tied the bandage off carefully, then sat back on his heels, golden eyes steady on hers.

  "You think this isn’t hard for me?" he said quietly.

  Astrid blinked, caught off guard.

  "You think climbing this mountain, watching you hurt, holding back what’s inside me every damn minute — you think that’s easy?"

  There was no anger in his voice.

  Just honesty.

  A rawness she hadn’t seen before.

  "You struggle with things I can’t even touch," Kurai said, shaking his head slightly. "You care. You keep fighting, even when you’re scared. Even when you're hurting."

  He gave a rough, breathless huff — almost a laugh.

  "I can't do that the way you do."

  Astrid stared at him, stunned.

  "I look at you," he said, softer now, "and all I see is someone who never gives up."

  Astrid felt something crack open in her chest.

  Something she hadn’t even realized was locked away.

  She managed a small, crooked smile, even as her eyes stung again.

  "You’re just saying that 'cause you feel bad for yelling at me."

  Kurai actually snorted — a tired, real sound — and shook his head.

  "If I wanted to make you feel better," he said dryly, "I’d tell you you're less stubborn than a kicked mule."

  Astrid let out a wet laugh, wiping at her face — but the smile faded quickly.

  "I just..." she trailed off, voice cracking.

  "I have a hard time believing it. About myself."

  She looked down at her scraped hands, ashamed.

  "I don’t see what you see."

  Kurai was quiet for a long moment.

  Then, softly:

  "I know."

  She glanced up at him, startled.

  He wasn’t looking away.

  He wasn’t brushing it off.

  He met her eyes steadily, like the truth didn’t scare him.

  "I know. I'm the same," he repeated. "But I’ll keep reminding you anyway. Until you believe it."

  "That's what you do for me," she whispered.

  Kurai smiled — a small, real thing — and for a moment, the world seemed less heavy.

  Astrid pressed her lips together hard, fighting the sting behind her eyes.

  Something broke loose inside her — something small and fierce and terrified.

  And for once, she let it.

  She nodded, a tiny, shaky movement.

  "Okay," she whispered.

  Kurai's mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but something softer.

  Something steadier.

  He pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand.

  Astrid stared at it for a second — then reached up and took it.

  His fingers closed firmly around hers, warm and solid.

  He didn’t pull her up roughly.

  He didn’t yank or command.

  He just held on, steady as a heartbeat, while she found her footing again.

  ---

  The climb didn’t get easier.

  The air was still thin.

  The rocks still slick with old ash.

  The wind still clawed at them like a living thing.

  But it was different now.

  They moved together — wordless, steady — a rhythm born of exhaustion and stubbornness and trust.

  When Astrid stumbled, Kurai caught her without a word.

  When Kurai hesitated at a crumbling ledge, Astrid found the handholds first and showed him the way.

  No arguments.

  No pride.

  Just survival.

  Just each other.

  And slowly — almost imperceptibly — the summit grew closer.

  The swirling ash thinned into high, jagged clouds.

  The broken rocks turned to sharp, glinting obsidian.

  The wind lost its voice, falling into a heavy, humming silence.

  Even the mountain seemed to recognize the change.

  As if it had been waiting — not for strength, but for unity.

  Astrid hauled herself over a final ridge, lungs burning, muscles screaming.

  Kurai scrambled up beside her, his hand steady at her back.

  And then — they were there.

  The summit stretched out around them — a narrow plateau of black stone and ancient scars.

  In the center, a vast circle of cracked ground shimmered faintly, pulsing with heat and something older — something alive.

  The heart of the volcano.

  The end of the climb.

  Astrid staggered forward a few steps, staring out across the endless, broken world below.

  It was beautiful in a terrible, savage way — all ash and jagged bones and fading light.

  A place where only the stubborn survived.

  A place where she and Kurai now stood.

  She felt Kurai come up beside her — close enough that their arms brushed, but not quite touching.

  For a long moment, they just stood there, breathing, battered, alive.

  No more illusions.

  No more tests.

  Just the raw, undeniable truth of them — scarred and stubborn and still standing.

  Astrid turned her head slightly, catching Kurai’s eye.

  She managed a tired, crooked grin.

  "Race you back down," she rasped.

  Kurai huffed a low, exhausted laugh — the real kind — and shook his head. He wrapped his arm around her, steady and warm.

  "I'll give you a head start," he muttered.

  He leaned his head lightly against hers, the steady weight of him grounding them both.

  They stood there a moment longer, letting the weight of the climb settle into their bones.

  Then, together, they stepped forward — toward whatever came next.

  Side by side.