Chapter 51: Lost From Height From their observations, the entrance to the Fourth Floor lay within a collapsed ridge or more accurately, a massive scar carved into the mountain’s side, where jagged stone and splintered earth formed a yawning chasm that seemed to breathe faint wisps of black fog.
Which meant that they had to climb down and navigate through the depths, which was a task easier said than done. The terrain below was unstable, littered with loose shale and fragments that crumbled under the slightest weight. A single misstep could send them tumbling into the fog-shrouded abyss.
Rose crouched near the edge and formed a luminous flame in her palm as she peered into the darkness below. The glow illuminated faint outlines of broken ledges, scattered boulders, and what appeared to be a narrow passageway halfway down the cliff.
After a brief moment of contemplation, Rose turned to him and said,
"We’ll have to descend manually. There’s no stable platform here. I can create footholds using my flames, but they won’t last long."
"Flame shaping?" Nightingale asked as he raised an eyebrow.
"Ah... you didn’t know? I suppose that’s my fault for not mentioning it earlier. Basically, aside from healing and destruction, my flames can take any form or shape I imagine. I call it Flame Shaping. Like I said, though, I can’t maintain it for long, maybe thirty seconds if I really push myself."
"I see. But... you’re talking about using flames as footholds. Wouldn’t someone get, you know... burned?"
She let out a small scoff.
"Are you seriously comparing my Azure Flames to ordinary fire? How prudent of you. What makes you think I can’t choose what to burn?"
Nightingale only looked at her with a blank expression.
’Can I really be blamed here? You’re the one who brought it up so casually...’
Who in their right mind would assume fire wouldn’t burn? That was like saying water wasn’t wet.
Even so, her Azure Flames were clearly not ordinary. They possessed the paradoxical ability to both burn and heal. And on top of that, she could shape them into physical constructs.
A truly remarkable ability.
...Wait a minute.
If she could create and sustain constructs made of flame, didn’t that mean she could theoretically fly?
Most Awakened couldn’t achieve flight unless they’d ascended to the Sequence of Saint, so possessing such an ability at a lower sequence was exceedingly rare enough to stir envy in anyone.
Even thirty seconds of airtime could still be called flight.
After all, who hadn’t dreamed of soaring through the sky at least once in their life?
Unfortunately, that thirty-second limit was a fatal flaw. The outcome of what happened when time ran out was self-evident, and no one found the idea of plummeting to their death particularly appealing.
He could only imagine that the masked woman had already tested this theory herself and learned about that limitation in a rather painful way.
Of course, he had no way to confirm this speculation.
’Well, it can’t be helped.’
Glancing over the edge, Nightingale frowned. The depth was impossible to gauge. The fog distorted perspective and swallowed anything beyond a few dozen meters.
He chewed his lip.
"Do you think we’d survive if we fell down?"
"Are you afraid of heights?"
"W–What? Who said anything about being scared of heights?!"
"Hehe. There’s no need to be embarrassed. It’s perfectly normal."
"Once again, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Buuuut... we haven’t agreed on the order yet, right? So how about you go first while I stay behind to check for any threats. One can never be too careful, after all."
The excuse rolled off his tongue with surprising confidence. Unfortunately, Rose didn’t seem the least bit convinced.
Perhaps it was his imagination but why did it feel like she was staring at him with a deadpan expression?
She probably thought he was a coward but It was impossible to tell for sure with that damn mask on her face.
’Ugh. Screw this!’
Strangely determined, Nightingale stepped forward until his boots were inches from the precipice.
The chasm below exhaled a low, hollow sound. It wasn’t not quite wind, not quite breath either, like something unseen was waiting down below.
He could feel it tugging at him, that strange pull between curiosity and dread.
’Relax. It’s just a bottomless pit of fog. Nothing terrifying about that.’
Before he could change his mind, he crouched down and glanced at Rose.
"Alright, so how do we do this?"
Rose looked at him for a few seconds before explaining:
"Simple. I’ll create the footholds as we go. You step where I step, nothing more. Move too early or too late and... well, I don’t think I need to explain what happens next."
Her tone was casual, but the implication wasn’t.
Nightingale forced out a dry laugh.
"Oh, how wonderful. Who knew that I would face my favorite way to go, death by misty cliffside!"
She ignored the sarcasm and turned toward the drop. Without hesitation, she stepped off the ledge.
For a moment, his heart nearly stopped but instead of falling, Rose landed lightly on a glowing platform of blue fire that hovered in the air. The flames rippled beneath her boots like liquid glass.
"Your turn," she said, glancing up at him.
He swallowed hard. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"
"Maybe a little."
There was a hint of smugness in her tone. Perhaps she was the type who found amusement in others’ fear. Either way, there wasn’t much he could do about it.
Muttering a few curses under his breath, Nightingale took a step forward. The warmth of the flame greeted his soles. To his surprise, the sensation of burning was absent. Instead it was oddly soft, almost soothing.
"Huh. That’s... actually comfortable."
"See? I told you. C’mon, pick up the pace, will ya?"
They continued their descent, stepping from one fading flame to the next as Rose shaped new ones ahead of them. Each platform lasted only a few seconds before dissolving into mist, forcing them to keep moving in perfect rhythm.
Every now and then, Nightingale would glance down and catch faint glimpses of movement within the darkness of the fog as though something down there was moving relentlessly.
Of course, it wasn’t his fear of heights playing tricks on him.
’Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Everything’s fine,’ he repeated inwardly like a mantra.
As they neared the halfway mark, Rose’s flames flickered more erratically.
Her voice came out strained.
"We need to hurry. I’m nearing my limit."
"Eh? Already?"
"What? Do I look like a Christmas tree to you?"
"That doesn’t make any sense! Scratch that, stop talking and keep burning!"
"Stop shouting at me!"
The flames below them began to waver, losing cohesion. The next foothold shattered before it could fully form.
"Shit!"
Nightingale reacted instantly, lunging forward to grab Rose’s arm as the fiery platform gave way. Together they plunged into the abyss below until Rose, gritting her teeth, slammed her free hand toward the cliffside.
A brilliant bloom of azure erupted, and a wave of condensed flame surged outward, hardening into a platform just in time to break their fall.
They hit it hard, carried by the momentum into a rough tumble before finally skidding to a stop on a narrow rocky ledge jutting out from the cliff’s slope.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was their ragged breathing and the faint hiss of extinguishing flame.
Then Nightingale groaned and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Tch. My neck hurts. Remind me never to do that again."
Rose exhaled slowly as her flames faded into smoke.
"Agreed. Next time, we find a safer way down."
Nightingale shot her a glare.
’Why didn’t we do that from the start?’
Of course, he already knew the answer. There was no other viable option.
The path along the ridge was too unstable to risk climbing, and the outer slopes were slick with dust and shale that crumbled at the slightest touch. Any rope or grappling method would have snapped under their combined weight before they made it halfway down.
In truth, the flame footholds were the only method that offered any control over their descent. Certainly, it was dangerous but less suicidal than trusting the mountain’s rotten bones.
Rose’s ability, volatile as it was, at least provided them with temporary footing and visibility. Without her Azure Flames lighting the path, they would have been blind, lost in the swirling darkness.
So really, they hadn’t chosen this method because it was clever.
They’d done it because the alternative was certain death.
Nightingale sighed and leaned back. His eyes lingered on the abyss below, where tendrils of fog coiled and twisted like restless spirits. When he finally spoke, his voice was low enough to carry across the narrow ledge.
"Why does every route we take feel like the stupidest one imaginable?"
Flaming Rose let out a faint, weary chuckle.
"Because it usually is."