Mount Everfall the black parade

The moon’s glow cast a reverent hush over the clearing as Qvasir arrived, his broad frame cutting through the shadows with purposeful strides. His pale eyes found Mictec immediately, her silhouette poised at the edge of the pines, a beacon of quiet resolve beneath the celestial light.

He dipped his head, acknowledging the weight of her summoning. She stood like a specter of tradition, an embodiment of ancient rites that even he, steeped in his own worldly pragmatism, could not dismiss.

As she spoke, her voice carrying the gravity of her mission, Qvasir listened intently. Her instructions were clear: continue the work, strengthen the pack, and find a healer—a task that suited him well. He nodded once, his movements deliberate and firm, his loyalty to the cause unwavering.

It will be done. His voice was steady, an unspoken oath in the quiet assurance of his tone.

As Mictec turned to leave, Qvasir stood rooted, watching her figure disappear into the wilderness. The moon’s light followed her, a guiding hand as she stepped into the unknown. He let out a slow breath, his gaze lingering on the path she had taken before shifting back to the task at hand.

There was work to be done, and he would see it through. Loyalty demanded it.