As Alex hung precariously from the sheer rock face, his fingers gripping the cold, unforgiving edges of the granite, doubt crept into his mind. It was an emotion he rarely entertained, especially in a place where confidence was as essential as oxygen.
The wind whistled through the narrow crevices, carrying the distant sound of birds and the muted rush of a waterfall somewhere below. The sun cast long shadows on the craggy surface, emphasizing the dizzying height that separated him from solid ground.
Alex was renowned for his rock-climbing prowess. He had conquered some of the most challenging peaks, pushing the boundaries of what was considered possible. The adrenaline, the thrill of the ascent, the feeling of mastery – these were the elements that fueled his passion. Yet, in the midst of this daring climb, doubt wrapped its tendrils around his thoughts.
His heart raced, not from the physical exertion but from an unexpected internal struggle. Gripped by uncertainty, he questioned the very foundation of his confidence. What if the rock he clung to was more treacherous than it seemed? What if gravity suddenly betrayed him, and the laws of nature proved harsher than his skills?
The sheer absurdity of these thoughts clashed with the rational, analytical mind that had guided him through countless climbs. Sweat mingled with the chalk on his hands, making them slippery. His breath quickened as he wrestled with the unsettling feeling that the mountain, once a trusted ally, had become an unpredictable adversary.
He couldn't afford to be paralyzed by doubt; not here, not now. But the questions persisted, echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain. The exposure, the vulnerability of hanging on the side of a cliff, amplified the doubt, turning it into a formidable opponent.
Summoning every ounce of mental fortitude, Alex tried to focus on the familiar rhythm of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart. He sought refuge in the muscle memory that had guided him through countless climbs before. Each handhold, each foothold, was a testament to his skill, a reassuring anchor against the tide of uncertainty.
With deliberate determination, he forced himself to ignore the nagging doubts and concentrate on the climb. The rock felt solid beneath his fingertips, the rhythm of the ascent gradually drowning out the disquiet in his mind. As he reached the summit, he paused to catch his breath, the doubt now a distant memory, replaced by the triumph of overcoming an unexpected challenge – not just in the rock, but within himself.
I could hear my heartbeat in my own ears, feel it pounding in my head. I felt like at any moment, my heart would beat right out my chest. Could he see it? Probably. He’s staring right at me, I felt like his cold blue eyes, devoid of any humanity could see right through me. Not that I’m hiding anything, I’m too terrified. He’s eerily still, seated across from me on his bunk. Legs spread wide, hands folded loosely in his lap, he would look so leisurely, if not for his stillness. like a string pulled too tight, on the verge of snapping. I have a feeling he could snap my neck before I could move an inch, or scream for help.
Finally, I cant stand it. “Are you going to kill me?”
He blinks, he seems almost… surprised. Amused?
“Why would I kill you?” His voice startles me, its not as deep as I thought it would be; its rough from lack of use but almost.. pleasant.
“Because thats what you do?” I cringe, “I mean… isnt it?” God, Im going to die. First day as a psychologist and this is all I have to say.
I clear my throat, straightening my spine and lifting my chin, summoning the composed professional facade I use with clients. However, this encounter feels different.. Definitely more dangerous.
“Five minutes,” he demands.
Unable to resist, I ask, “What? Until I die?”
His expression remains unreadable, a stoic mask. “You get five minutes before you witness 'what I do.'”
My face drains of color, my heart intensifying its rapid beats. I inhale deeply.
“That’s not what Sam would want, is it?”
A fracture appears in his facade—disbelief, followed swiftly by anger.
In an instant of complete silence, he lunges, pinning me against the wall, his hand closing around my throat. As I prepare to scream, he leans down, bringing our heads to the same level. Inches apart, any closer and our lips would touch.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
The pressure on my throat is not painful; it's the thumb against my pulse that concerns me.
“What do you know about Sam?” His breath brushes my face, and I sense I'm treading on thin ice.
Staring back at him, I discard all pretenses and exhale, “Sam was my brother.”
Another moment of silence follows before he tightens his grip, and I struggle for breath.
“Not possible.”
My hands clutch his at my throat, and I gasp, "He says Paladin. He said you would know what it means!"
His hand releases my throat, causing him to stagger backward, colliding with the bed and sitting down abruptly. The bunk creaks loudly, drowning out my wheezing as I immediately bend over, breathing heavily. To steady myself, I have to slam my hand against the wall, battling the dizziness that sweeps over me. I glance up at him, attempting to regain control of my racing heart. He appears stunned, just observing me as I collect myself. Standing upright, I swallow heavily.
“How?” he rasps. “How is it possible?”
“He's not dead, Rome.”
