~The Esperança, a few hours earlier.

The waves were still, the sea breeze fresh with brine, and the two mighty galleons towered overhead—their sails furled, masts deserted, save for a few seamen who worked on repairs. The sun shone brightly through the tiny droplets that fell from the heavens, forming a medley of ripples at the horizon where the sea met the skies.

Rakkah tied the boat carrying him and Mari to the bottom of the starboard side of the Esperança. He managed it quickly and silently. Despite the sun shining bright, no one seemed to have noticed them, partly due to them concealing themselves beneath a fishing net throughout their voyage there.

As he fastened the knot to anchor the vessel, Mari still frowned. She had been upset the entire way there, as Gabriel had left without deigning her a single farewell. In fact, she originally wished to remain in his quarters until he returned, but the shuffling of boots on the deck of their prior lodge necessitated them to leave for the Esperança, lest they wished to be caught.

"Come now, Mari. What good does it do us if you refuse to cooperate? We will only be caught sooner and be thrown back into that hell. Is that what you wish for?"

Mari pouted and turned to Rakkah, then after a moment of contemplation, her countenance drooped.

"Come. Let us seize our freedom," Rakkah crouched into the swaying boat and smiled into Mari's eyes. Still upset, but less so than before, Mari nodded and stood up.

To their surprise, a rope ladder had already been strewn out for them. Were there men onboard? They turned towards each other and stared for a moment.

"It's okay. I'll deal with it if anything happens," Rakkah said confidently.

He climbed up one rung of the swaying rope ladder and looked below.

"Watch your step, okay?"

Mari nodded.

Rakkah continued up the ladder, the tails of his tunic swaying with the wind. He no longer wore the loose-fitted leather armor. Instead, Gabriel had handed him his own clothing used by him as a teenager. Silver shin and elbow guards painted stark ebony black, some light chainmail—which Rakkah chose to carry in his knapsack for ease of mobility—and a perfectly fitted leather tunic and trousers. Indeed, he looked no different from an infantryman back in Tartessos—but here he stuck out like a sore thumb.

His curly hair, though shaved at the sides, fluttered like waves with the wind. Mari, on the other hand, had changed into gear more befitting an adventure of this sort. She donned a hooded ebony cloak, and wore loose trousers, seeking to disguise herself if she were ever caught.

Rakkah made his way to the top, when suddenly he paused and lowered his head. He gestured silently to the girl below him to stop and make no sounds.

——

Yawning, with one hand chugging a mug of ale and the other scratching his butt, the man wearing a sailor's uniform spoke to his friend who was adjusting the sails.

"Didja see der fight yesterdaj?"

"Eh?"

"Der fight. Twas a kid I ne'er seen befer, und he ne'rly killed der vis-genral."

The man at the masts chortled, "Yer pissin' me."

"Nay. Swear on der All-mighty!"

An arm appeared on the sailor's right and embraced him into a suffocating hold.

"Swear on Lord Azazel, you mean?" Feliform eyes smiled leeringly at the chokeheld man. His eyes stared blankly in confusion as he coughed, his confusion growing into fear as soon as he realized who the man was.

"Oh, you do not know him?" He opened his eyes, pupils dark as the depths of the abyss. "Such a shame; none of you seem to know. Alas, it is my duty to educate you all."

He inched closer to the sailor's ear and whispered, "The Oath-God. Any promise made unto his name shall be remembered until Eternity. And if you so choose to fool him," he gripped onto the man's face with his free hand, "he shall not be satisfied until a sacrifice of equal value is given up."

——

Rakkah's heart pounded as he overheard the conversation. His mind went numb and his palms lined with sweat. Memories of the past flooded his mind, memories he wished buried for eternity—memories of sacrifice, memories of death. The voice, he knew it well. His father had introduced him to this man when he was merely a child. What was his name? He could not recall. It did not matter. All that he knew for sure was that this was an extremely dangerous man. A man with no morals or virtues. A man whose depths of evil knew no bounds. He enticed his father. He was the sole reason for his mother's demise. Rakkah's mind spiraled as he clenched onto the rungs of the rope ladder, trembling.

A frigid gust of wind blew along with a faint drizzle of rain, causing Mari's nose to sniffle in discomfort. Trying her best to control it, she failed, letting out a quiet yet distinct sneeze. Rakkah's heart rose up to his chest and he froze into place.

——

"Hmm?" Araqiel looked towards starboard. "You hear that?"

The man, still in a suffocating embrace, shook his head with great effort. Araqiel slammed him onto the floorboard, knocking him unconscious. "Worthless."

He looked up. The man at the masts had already scuttled away. Not that he could do Araqiel much harm either way. He walked, plodding up to the edge of the starboard cautiously. Laying his hand upon the edge, he immediately moved his head to look below. His feline eyes were now wide, scanning every piece of information they could. He noticed a dinghy tied to the side of the ship but did not think much of it, for there was a rope ladder as well—so it was presumably being used for traveling quickly from one ship to another.

——

His heart still pounding ceaselessly, he cupped his hand tight over Mari's mouth. They sat awkwardly, arms and legs intertwined, affixed in place as if statues made of mud. Five minutes passed, then ten. He did not know if the man still stood there or not, but he did not wish to take any chances. In a motion of pure adrenaline, he had grabbed onto Mari's arm and leaped onto a cannon that stood a foot apart. They now hid discreetly within the cannon's gunport.

——

Araqiel retreated his eyes, failing to notice anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was just the dinghy rattling against the lower hull of the ship. Closing his eyes, he shrugged and turned around, when he was stopped by a group of sailors wielding cutlasses pointed straight at his neck.

He chuckled. "Settle down now, young ones. I wish to educate you, not kill you."

Araqiel wore no armor, neither did he wield a weapon. The men did not falter, they inched closer with the singular intent to kill.

In the blink of an eye, a sailor's arm was dislocated and his cutlass clanked onto the floorboards. Unblinking, another sailor slashed downwards at Araqiel's arm, when he was knocked out by an impossibly swift elbow to the gut. Two other men came at him with their sword-arm poised, and Araqiel effortlessly ducked and tripped them both. Only one remained, it was the man who was at the masts. He held his free hand behind his back and stood in a naval stance. Araqiel smirked.

——

The clamor above served to calm Rakkah's nerves. He sat back to catch his bated breath, when Mari whispered, "Look."

Before Rakkah could tilt his head, Mari had already lifted the gunport hatch with a loud creak. A shiver ran down the young soldier's spine, however, he was put at ease once again when no response came. Mari quickly hopped down the hatch and landed on her feet, urging Rakkah to follow suit. Reluctantly, he gave in, not wanting to miss the opportunity provided by the bedlam overhead.

He jumped through the hatch and immediately pulled out a shortsword from the back of his belt. Standing in a defensive stance, he scanned the entire room, and upon guaranteeing their safety, he sheathed the weapon.

Unturned, he spoke, "Mari, listen close, we need to find an entry to the—"

Another loud creak.

"Over here," Mari whispered, "I think I found the way."

If this continued, Rakkah was sure he would faint out of pure anxiety. He rushed to Mari and whispered sternly, "Do not open hatches freely. We need to be cautious."

"But there isn't anyone here."

Not wishing to argue further, Rakkah turned towards the hatch and peered within. Silence.

"I will go first. As soon as I give the signal, you follow."

Mari nodded.

Rakkah descended. He looked in all directions. Silence pervaded. He unsheathed his shortsword and hit the pummel against the floorboards in rhythmic succession. Mari soon appeared at the opening and Rakkah helped her down. They shut the hatch, and the deck was soon plunged into darkness.

***

~Mount Hermon, present time.

His knife clasped tight in his right hand, Gabriel slashed at the overgrowth that hid the secrets of the ominous summit. Mount Hermon. If it truly were the same as that of Biblical infamy, it would for certain carry the answers that he sought. With this singular hope in mind, he ventured forth into the dizzying Cyclopean heights. Despite the sun shining bright up above, an unnerving dimness pervaded the sanctuary. He was no stranger to dense forests such as these, yet the peculiarity of this observation ensnared his senses; something felt off. Not a sound emanated from the Sacred Mount of Old—not even a bird's chirrup; the only sounds indicating life being his footsteps upon the undergrowth.

The ground was muddy, and so his gait was careful and calculated, lest he wished to miss his step and lose the progress he had made on his ascent. Odd, he thought, that there existed no trail, not even one of trodden feet that led up to the apex. Was it truly laid bare to the elements as such, not a single local nor outsider curious to learn of its secrets? Impossible, he thought. What antediluvian mysteries lay in wait for him, only time would reveal.

The silent, foreboding buzzes of mosquitoes zipped past his ears. He knew well the pestilences carried by these harbingers of doom. Swatting them away, he continued forth; the only solace to his mind being his thoughts of divine revelation upon the completion of his treacherous trial. A force much greater than himself compelled him to this place. To venture forth unworrying and undeterred. Whether it was God or the Devil, he did not know, he did not care; for what he truly sought was answers. Answers to the endless dreams and visions. Answers to the miraculous yet disturbing resurrection of Mari. The work of the Lord? No, he had begun to doubt that. To save a child of this land, a child of the Watchers, it did not concur with what the angel of the Lord had uttered unto him. Then again, how would he be sure of the trustworthiness of the entity of his dreams? He—nay, they might very well be daemons seeking to lead him astray.

An unexpected gust of wind blew into Gabriel's face, sending a chill across his entire body. Was it to rain once more? His proposed question was soon answered. A clearing appeared before him, a plateau of sorts amidst the steep incline. He did not know how high he had trekked up the quiescent peak. He could barely see the distant horizon—the rich foliage concealing all, as it did with the arcane unknowns of the entity upon which he stood. The sound of a faint trickle of water broke his reverie. A stream of water? He was immediately reminded of his parched mouth. A hand on his canteen, realization soon hit that he had forgotten to refill it before beginning his journey. He swiftly slashed his way through the stray branches, heading towards the rivulet that promised to quench his thirst.

Upon arriving at the source of the sound, however, he was met not merely with a stream, but a clear freshwater spring. He walked towards it, canteen in hand, and upon reaching, he knelt down and scooped up the glistening aqua. Putting it to his mouth, he drank, and drank, and drank—the water spilling forth from the sides of his mouth. He had never tasted water of such purity before. Odd, he thought, had he not been to the bountiful peaks of the Pyrenees before? For some reason, he could not recall its taste any more.

Wiping his now quenched lips with his sleeve, he bent down to fill his canteen once more for the remaining journey ahead, when suddenly at the corner of his eye he noticed something looking towards him. He turned to his immediate right, and his eyes widened upon seeing the familiar pitch black visage staring, unmoving. The Stygian goat, with its solid amber eyes, seemed to beckon him. He rose from his prostrating pose, picked up his worn knife, and took leaden steps towards it.

The caprid turned, and like all the life present atop this soulless peak, it did not utter a single cry. Its hooves moved noiselessly over the malleable earth below, and Gabriel followed suit. The plateau seemed to level out the further he walked, when suddenly the horned creature ceased its gait. A gushing waterfall rose to his left, and Gabriel was struck with a sudden pang of disquietude as to how he had not heard its surging streams until this point. He blinked, and the dark-coated beast was gone.

A steep descent revealed itself from where he stood, the gushing streams emptied downwards and gave way to a river that likely drained out into the Tartaran sea. To his left, there was a cliff path of sorts that led nearer to the ceaseless flow. As there was no way past the incline besides diving into the shivering currents below, he decided to head down this path first before turning around and resuming his ascent. The path was extremely narrow, and a mere misstep would likely end in terrible tragedy. Despite this, hugging the mossy rocks to his left, he edged closer to the falling waters.

Upon reaching as close as he could, he alighted at what he witnessed before him. An entrance to a cave, concealed by the unceasing stream. He inched towards it, clasping onto the rocks demarcating the door to this remarkable discovery. Pitch black answered his delight, and a singular unease gripped his being. He sheathed his knife and pulled out his sword. What horrors dwelled within these forlorn caverns lost to time, he did not know.

The further he walked, the darker it became. He pulled out his gold cigarette box with his off-hand, grabbed a match, and grazed it on the rocks along the walls of the cavern. As the light illuminated the desolate halls of stone, a strange unnerving washed over Gabriel. The walls seemed unnatural, they did not exhibit the nature of rocks one might find within caves. No, there was a striking uniformity in how the rocks were cut, as if born of human hand. He had never witnessed anything like it before. All along the unending path, forward and back, the same pattern stretched, unerring.

Seeking not to be put off by this perplexity, he lit a cigarette and put it to his mouth, partly for the light, partly for solace. The smell of smoke filled the cavern, and Gabriel continued down the uncanny tunnel. He walked, and walked, and walked—silently yet steadfast, ready to face whatever eldritch horrors that might reveal themselves to him. Upon reaching what must have been four miles inwards, a peculiar noise caught his ears. It sounded like the scraping of metal onto stone; was there another soul that wandered these paths? He rushed forward, when inexplicably he tripped and fell backward, his sword falling to the ground with a clang. He coughed, regaining his bearings. To his surprise, a stone door stood before him. Had he been so preoccupied as to not notice a door in such close vicinity? No, he had seen the entire path before him, and he was certain that no door existed prior. Was his mind playing cruel tricks upon him?

He rose, dusting off his cloak and retrieving his fallen sword. His cigarette had also fallen to the ground and just then fizzled out, plunging his surroundings into darkness once more. He lit another, resting it between his lips. He sheathed his sword and ran his fingers over the strange entrance before him. Mysterious symbols appeared to be carved into it. A Crescent Moon crowned an Eye, and Rays of the Sun appeared to emanate forth from it. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and the stone bore no marks of wear, as if it had risen from the earth in sheer perfection for his eyes and his eyes alone. The gateway seemingly called unto him, beckoning him to enter. Mustering all his strength, he pushed forwards; the door resisting with all its might to keep the primordial secrets that lay beyond it hidden till the end of time.

He froze. What met his eyes was a sight so bizarre, so unequivocally inexplicable that it made his stomach churn. He stood atop a familiar cliff, a cliff overlooking a valley he vowed to never forget for the rest of his life. What he saw within that valley was a village set ablaze. Marching troops clad in ebony black. Torches burning auburn under the setting sun. Blood-curdling screams of women and children. Cries for mercy from a tongue he knew all too well. Tears flowed down Gabriel's face. The scent of burning corpses drifted along the cold winter breeze. The banner of the Basques crumbled into ashes. The final cry of an entire race, now wiped off the face of the Earth for all of eternity. He dropped to his knees and clasped his mouth, tears continuing to fall.

I did not want this.

He began to tremble.

I had no other choice.

The blaze surged within his eyes.

There was no other way.

The smoldering vale was silent. It deigned him no absolution. Suddenly, he felt a push. He began to descend. He fell, and fell, and fell, until his body collided with the cold Pyrenean expanse.

He awoke and found himself lying supine on the edge of a plateau. Mustering his strength, he sat up in place. Dried tears stuck to his face, was it all a dream? But then, where was the door he had just walked through? He stood, regaining his balance. After dusting his cloak, he looked up, and a gale of utter horror blew across his being. He saw Bathsheba, minuscule and distant. The forest with the gigantic trees appeared as sticks attached to a canvas of green. He turned around, there was no further to ascend. He was at the top of Mount Hermon.