The Spire's Burden

The peak platform hums under Derick Force’s boots, each step answering the Echo-Blade at his side. The sunrise is bright, but the stone feels awake, listening.

A deep vibration rolls through the platform. Hairline runes flare faintly around the seal, then point toward the mountain path as if marking a road only Derick can feel.

Joi presses tight to Derick’s leg, alert and steady. The Echo-Blade gives one hard pulse, and the hum in the stone matches his heartbeat. Ahead, the stair from the peak begins to shed grit, opening the route down.

Derick leads them toward the descending path as the platform settles behind him. The way out is clear now, but so is the truth, the High Spire has marked him, and whatever wakes below will know his name.

Derick lets the Spire’s pressure slide through him instead of against him. The route comes clear in his senses, a narrow line of stable stone along the outer edge of the stairs, where the wind bites least and the runes are quietest.

He turns that way at once, leading the group off the peak without hesitation. Joi shadows his heel, and the loose grit stops skittering where his boot finds firm purchase.

A colder draft spills from below as the stair bends into shadow. The mountain gives a low answer, not a warning now, but a waking breath from deep inside its bones.

Derick reaches the first landing beneath the peak, and the glow behind them thins to a distant seam. Far underfoot, something ancient stirs once, then settles with a patient, listening weight.