✶ The Mountain Without a Name

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The Cast Shadow fell from the Traveler’s feet
over rock, grass, sand, and broken steps.

But he did not always follow
as a cast shadow should.

Sometimes he lingered near an abyss...
 

Not because he wished to fall.

But because he wanted to know
what waited so silently below.

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The Reflection found this excessive.

The Cast Shadow found the Reflection excessive.

In that, they were both somewhat right.

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When the Traveler did something beautiful, the Reflection said:

“You see? That is who he truly is.”

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When the Traveler stumbled, the Cast Shadow said:

“And that as well.”

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“Must you always say that?” asked the Reflection.

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“Yes,” said the Cast Shadow
“You forget it otherwise.”

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So they traveled on.

The Reflection looked upward.
The Cast Shadow looked downward.
And between them walked the Traveler.

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One day they reached The Mountain Without a Name.

The name had caused some confusion.

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The Reflection appeared clearly in a wet stone.

“Something great awaits above,” he said.​

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The Cast Shadow sighed.

“Not exactly.”

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Still, the Traveler began to climb.

Through snow.
Through mist.
Through silence.

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Whenever he wanted to give up,
the Reflection spoke from ice and water:

“One more step.”

Whenever he tried to climb too quickly,
the Cast Shadow pulled heavily at his feet:

“Rest first.”

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And so they reached the summit.

There lay a small lake between black stones.

The water was so still
that it did not seem to reflect,
but to remember.

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The Reflection spread himself across the lake.

At first, he wanted to admire himself.

He enjoyed doing that.

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But this time he did not see only his own brightness.

He saw the Traveler.

Older.
Quieter.
Marked by roads
that had not yet been walked.

With sorrow not yet carried.

And a peace
even the Reflection could not exaggerate.

For the first time, he said nothing.

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A little farther away, the Cast Shadow stood at the edge of the mountain.

Not behind the Traveler.

Not at his feet.

But alone.

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Then the storm broke.

Snow erased the path.

The three sheltered beneath an overhanging rock.

For the first time,
the Reflection and the Cast Shadow did not bicker.

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No grand speech.

No warning.

No sharp remark.

Only the storm.

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Toward morning, the Cast Shadow said:

“Perhaps I do not understand him.”

The Reflection looked up from a puddle of meltwater.

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“The Traveler?”

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The Cast Shadow nodded.

​

After a long silence, the Reflection said:

“Perhaps I do not understand him either.”

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That was strange.

For the Reflection knew his dreams.

And the Cast Shadow knew his fears.

But neither of them knew the whole.

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Then they understood something
they had not wanted to see for years.

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The Reflection did not only admire himself.

He admired what the Traveler could become.

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And the Cast Shadow did not only stare into abysses.

He watched over what the Traveler could lose.

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They had never worked against him.

They had only loved him
in two different ways.

During the descent, they spoke less.

But listened more.

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When the Reflection looked at himself for too long,
the Cast Shadow merely smiled.

He knew why now.

And when the Cast Shadow lingered too long near an abyss,
the Reflection did not immediately grow impatient.

Usually.

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He knew why now.

Since then, they still bickered.

Of course.

But more softly.

For they understood
that they carried the same task.

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The Reflection guarded the horizon.
The Cast Shadow guarded the ground.

The Reflection reminded the Traveler
of what could still become.

The Cast Shadow reminded him
of what must not be lost.

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And the Traveler walked between them.

Not always certain.

Not always wise.

But never entirely alone.

 

That is why the old stories of Verenis say:

The Reflection teaches you to look upward.
The Cast Shadow teaches you where your feet stand.

And whoever learns to listen to both
may sometimes find a path
between the stars and the earth.

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✶