"Hope is a treacherous companion – sweeter than dates, but just as quick to rot when winter's breath turns dreams to ash."

Farid had believed the nightmare ended when his blades found the strategist's heart, there on the jagged peak. The snow drank the man's blood like sweet pomegranate wine, steam rising from the crimson stain like incense from a temple brazier. For one foolish moment, watching the White Wolf Clan's mastermind crumple in the darkness of that cave, Farid had allowed hope to bloom in his chest like winter jasmine.

He should have remembered his mother's
warnings about hope – how it was sweeter than dates, and just as prone to rot.

They emerged like djinn from the mountain's bones, their pale fur luminous as moonlight on snow. Warriors clad in white wool and silver steel rose from beneath ice-crusted drifts, from behind centuries-old cedars that clung to the mountainside like desperate lovers, from crevices in the ancient rock that had witnessed a thousand such battles. Their war cries tangled with the mournful howls of their wolves, a song as old as the stones themselves.

Farid danced with death, his twin shamshirs catching starlight and turning it to liquid fire. The silk scarf his sister had embroidered with protective verses now lay forgotten in the snow, dark curls plastered to his face by sweat that froze almost instantly in the bitter air. Blood bloomed like poppies across his robes, seeping through the rings of his mail armor, but he paid it no mind. Each breath sharpened his resolve, each strike drove it home.

At his side, Kaveh moved like a dervish lost in divine ecstasy, his blade writing poetry in the spaces between heartbeats. The soldiers – sons of the empire, each chosen by the Lion Throne itself – formed a circle of steel and valor around them.

But even they, with their generations of martial knowledge, began to fall like autumn leaves before a storm. The legendary Shahdokht assassins, whose mere whispered name had once sent kings to their knees, found themselves yielding precious ground with each passing moment.

"Fall back!" Farid's voice carried on the wind. Steam rose from his lips as he gestured toward the ancient path, worn smooth by centuries of pilgrims and merchants. "The mines of Darvish! We'll find sanctuary there – they dare not cross the boundary stones!"

The caravan surged forward like a river breaking its banks, horses wild-eyed and frothing, wheels creaking prayers into the frozen air. Farid and Kaveh carved a path through the chaos, their blades singing steel lullabies to those who dared block their escape. Around the Shah's ornate carriage, guards moved as one, their shields a constellation of bronze and iron against the storm of attacks.

Then, the mountain spoke.

It began as a whisper deep within the earth, a sound like a thousand djinn awakening from ancient slumber. The snow shifted beneath them, restless as a fever dream, before transforming into something hungry, something alive.

"Avalanche!" Kaveh's cry pierced the air like an arrow, his face pale as alabaster beneath the spatter of blood.

Farid's gaze found Sima ahead of them, her emerald cloak a defiant flash of spring against winter's wrath. Her mare – a gift from the shah, blessed by seven priests – lost its footing on the treacherous ground. The edge of the mountain gave way with a sickening crack, sending a cascade of snow and rock plummeting into the abyss below.

Sima screamed as her horse lost its footing entirely, sliding downward with a frantic whinny. The reins slipped from her hands as she tried to hold on, her cloak billowing like a green flag in the chaos.

Farid's blood turned to ice. The Shahdokht assassins, bound by ancient oaths to the Shah's protection, could not turn from their sacred duty. The palace guards, locked in their dance of death with the White Wolf Clan, remained blind to her plight. Not a single soul moved to save the daughter of Golemut.

No one but Farid.

He dug his heels into Oghab's flanks, the horse who had carried him through a hundred battles, whose name meant "eagle" in the old tongue. "Oghab, fly!"

The command tore from his throat like a prayer to the stars themselves. His mount responded as if touched by divine fire, muscles bunching beneath sweat-darkened hide as they charged toward the crumbling edge of their world.

Farid melted into Oghab's form like a shadow, his hands steady on the reins. The world dissolved into a symphony of white fury, each crystalline blade of snow striking his face like the kisses of vengeful spirits. The avalanche's voice swallowed all else – the clash of steel, the howls of wolves, and the cries of the fallen – until there was nothing but its ancient, terrible song.

He could see Sima ahead of him, her figure tumbling helplessly as her horse disappeared beneath the waves of snow.

Farid whispered words of power into Oghab's ear, ancient phrases passed down through generations of warriors, urging his beloved mount deeper into the chaos. He reached out, his hand straining toward Sima as they slid further and further down the mountainside.

"Sogoli!"

She turned, her dark eyes wide with terror as she struggled to find purchase on the unstable ground. Farid leaned further, his fingers brushing against hers just as the avalanche threatened to engulf them both.

Even as nature herself sought to destroy them, the White Wolf Clan's warriors emerged from the chaos like demons from a nightmare. They lunged through curtains of snow, their blades thirsting for blood. Farid's blades sang their deadly song, painting the avalanche crimson as he cut down his attackers without mercy. Each stroke was a prayer to whatever gods might be watching – let him reach her, let him save his father's favourite, let this not be her ending.

With a final, desperate effort, he stretched and seized Sima's wrist, feeling the pulse of her life beneath his fingers. In one fluid motion born of desperate grace, he pulled her onto Oghab's back. The force nearly sent them both tumbling into the void, but he held fast, his arms wrapped tightly around her as they rode the avalanche's deadly current.

"Hold tight!" he commanded.

The world tilted and spun, the snow carrying them ever downward. Farid's muscles screamed with the effort of keeping them both upright, but he refused to let go. Not of Sima, not of the reins, not of his resolve.

The avalanche carried them beyond the mountain's mercy, casting them into the embrace of empty air. Farid's mind raced, but his body moved instinctively, tightening his grip around Sima as the world beneath them disappeared.

The wind keened past like the laments of a thousand grieving mothers. For a moment, time seemed to splinter—each second an eternity as snow and stone spun in dizzying chaos. Then the rocks found them.

Their impact shattered the fragile illusion of survival. Farid's body became a shield of bone and blood, taking the mountain's fury into himself. Pain erupted beneath his ribs like molten iron as stone tore through flesh, each breath a battle for air.

Oghab – brave, beautiful Oghab, his companion through a hundred battles – let out a cry that cut through the chaos like an arrow through flesh. Farid turned, just in time to see his beloved steed falter. The rocks claimed him with a savage finality, his once-majestic form now lifeless, a broken shadow against the snow.

Farid's heart twisted in his chest. There was no time to mourn – not yet. The mountain had already taken too much.

The avalanche continued its relentless descent, wrapping the mountain in a kafan of pristine white, as if preparing the whole world for burial.

१  
Please vote and drop a commentッ