The horse stopped abruptly, as if the night itself had blocked the path. It neighed nervously, digging its hooves into the wet stone. Toruk pulled gently on the reins, without forcing the animal. In K?g?n Kuln?, even the beasts knew when the mountain was awake.

  Clouds scudded across the sky, covering and uncovering the moon, and the dark clearing split the world into unstable fragments. The pale, intermittent light illuminated the ancestral carvings on the cliffs, bringing them to life on the rock before returning them to the static world of shadows. Silhouettes of horses and warriors in procession seemed to accompany him along the narrow path.

  Toruk felt doubt creeping into his mind. These forms did not speak, yet they suggested. They hinted at past mistakes, decisions that had condemned entire clans, leaders who had believed they saw signs where there was only stone and shadow.

  The horse neighed again, tilting its head, refusing to move forward. Its deep eyes reflected the broken moonlight. It wasn’t fear of ambush or invisible cliffs, but of the images' darkness could conjure: Sora walking alone among those rocks, the clan divided, his lineage marked as a warning.

  Toruk dismounted slowly. He laid his hand on the animal’s neck to calm it, but also to anchor himself to something living, real. Stone deceives —he remembered—, night exaggerates, and the mind, when it doubts, invents. Still, he raised his eyes to the carvings briefly illuminated by the moon and knew no leader crosses a pass like this without leaving part of themselves behind in their decision.

  He took the first step on foot into the dark clearing, while the wind scattered the clouds and the ancient carvings, silent witnesses, seemed to watch him decide.

  Sora, his daughter, the Mistress of the Nine Stars, had followed Toruk without haste or fear, alternating between riding and walking, holding the reins of her horse in her hands. She did not need to hide from her father; it was enough not to disturb the night.

  She approached slowly. Toruk’s horse lifted its head and snorted nervously, but Sora reached out and brushed its muzzle with a gentle hand. The animal calmed as it recognized her. That simple gesture, learned in childhood, was the first announcement of her presence.

  —Father… —she whispered.

  Toruk turned. The moon, filtered through the clouds, lit his daughter’s face with soft clarity, without harshness. The girl he had watched grow now stood before him like a princess, her long hair falling over her shoulders.

  —You did not want to leave me alone —he murmured, with a tenderness he rarely let show—. This place weighs even on old men.

  Sora smiled, that mixture of calm and determination that had always disarmed her father. She stepped a little closer, enough for their hands to meet. Her fingers were cold but firm.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  —I have walked with you always —she replied—. I would not leave you alone when the path grows difficult.

  Toruk lowered his gaze. The heaviness he carried did not vanish, but it became lighter, like a shared burden. He pressed his forehead against hers for a brief, intimate moment, detached from the night and the ancient carvings watching them.

  —All I do is to protect you —he confessed—. Sometimes I fear I don’t know how to do it right.

  Sora shook her head softly.

  —You have already protected me —she said—. You’ve taught me to love people, to listen to the earth, to not fear doubt. The rest…

  The wind stirred the clouds and the moon emerged again, wrapping them in calm light. The carved figures on the rock, split between shadow and clarity, seemed to lose their harshness. In that moment, father and daughter remained in silence, and the Watchful Sky Pass ceased to be a place of omens, becoming instead a refuge where two noble hearts recognized each other and drew strength.

  They rode back together, unaware of the breath they left behind across the steppe, where a furious battle was unfolding.

  The first chill of dawn descended from the canyon peaks like an ancient breath, possessed by the memory of old songs. From the blades of feather grass, stalks of petuska, poa, and koeleria, emanations rose, forming a blue mist over the steppe. It was the essence of the land released. The ancestral spirits awoke.

  Soft, shapeless lights, emerging from leaves, roots, and the hidden moisture in the rocks, rose slowly, enveloping the path. Passing through them, Toruk felt fatigue melt away and doubt dissolve. Sora perceived them naturally; she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the cold, blue perfume brush her face like a familiar caress.

  But not all eyes in the night were benevolent. From the dark slopes, where the moon could not reach, dense, twisted shadows moved, drawn by an ancient desire to break and destroy. They were nameless presences, born of resentment, unresolved fear, and the unjust decisions of other times. Even the earth reacted to their weighty power.

  The horse neighed nervously. Toruk pressed his legs, and the animal surged forward with a strong, steady gallop. At that instant, the blue spirits responded. They gathered around father and daughter like an invisible escort, spinning and rising, forming luminous arches that blocked the shadows. Wherever the dark presences tried to approach, the blue light vibrated, and the air became impassable.

  Sora lifted her face. The clouds parted like a curtain, and the full moon bathed them in silvery light. For a moment, the world ceased to be earth. They rode enveloped in a low sky, as if the ancient royalty —not of blood, but of spirit— had raised them.

  The spirits ascended too, circling like living constellations. From afar, they appeared as two riders crossing the night, suspended between sky and mountain, protected by blue lights and pursued by shadows that could not reach them.

  Toruk held the reins in one hand and secured his daughter’s horse with the other. Sora was serene and confident. There was no fear. Only a profound certainty: as long as they walked —as long as they rode— together, the ancients would not let the night claim them.

  The sky opened above, and for a moment, the Nine Stars turned cold, like blades of scattered light. Nothing descended, nothing spoke, yet the air trembled with an invisible judgment. Sora felt deep within that she was marked: protected, yes, but watched; and that every shadow stalking her path would know of her presence before it moved. The universe promised no mercy, only reminded her that her story had already begun… and that no one could stop it.