The Peak

The wind gusted across the dusty peak, nearly blowing Zachariah off his feet. He pulled his weathered duster closer around him, pulled his hat down further over his eyes in an attempt to keep debris out of his eyes.

The townsmen had said the climb would be difficult. Zachariah remembered their smiles, saw the amusement and resignation in their eyes. They've seen too many others attempt the climb and die, he had thought. But he would not be one of those so ill-fated.

And he wasn't. He had reached the peak, despite the treacherous terrain, and now he stood here, bracing against the gale trying to pry him off.

He pushed forward, eyes set on the rock just ahead. The wind rose as he struggled with each step, striving to drive him back. But he would not be driven.

Finally, he reached the stone and stopped. From his duster he produced a pendant, glowing faintly of green light, which became blinding the moment he pressed it against the stone. A seam of light appeared, tracing the outline of a doorway.