Mount Apikuni go among the lost

the chill of winter clung to the mountain like a predator, its icy breath seeping into every crack and crevice of the sheer northwestern slopes. lucifer moved with practiced ease along the treacherous terrain, his dark coat stark against the endless expanse of snow. the air was sharp, each inhalation tinged with the faint tang of pine and the distant whisper of history—a story written in stone and ash.  

this place reeked of death.  

lucifer's lips curled into a faint smirk, though it lacked its usual sharpness. a tragedy fit for legends, he murmured to the wind, his voice a low rumble swallowed by the vast silence.  

the snow crunched beneath his paws as he moved forward again, his steps deliberate yet unhurried. the trail was faint, buried under layers of frost and time, but it was there—a reminder of those who had walked this path before him. he followed it with a predator’s patience, his breath curling in the air like smoke.  

above him, the skeletal branches of the sparse trees swayed under the weight of snow, their groans a mournful song that echoed through the quiet. he stopped again, this time at the edge of a steep drop, and let his gaze fall to the valley below. the scars of the mountain were subtle but visible to the keen eye: jagged lines in the rock, darker patches where the forest had refused to regrow.  

lucifer tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. the solitude of this place suited him, its silence a stark contrast to the chaos that so often surrounded him. yet, beneath the stillness, there was an energy—an ancient tension that set his fur on edge.  

haunting, isn’t it? he said to no one in particular, his voice softer now, as though speaking louder might wake something sleeping beneath the snow.