20. Amber

I'm broughtout of my sleep by someone's hand gently shaking my arm.

"Amber," Morgan says. "We're almost there."

I blink the sleep from my eyes and stretch. I've never left the East Coast, let alone the country. This has, without competition, been the longest flight of my life.

I open the window, glance out, and stare in awe at the sight before me.

Mountains.

They're the largest mountains I've ever seen, so tall that I can barely see the ground, and so otherworldly that if Damien told me the jet was a spaceship and we were landing on another planet, I might believe him.

I press my face closer to the window, continuing to take it in.

The sun hits the snow-capped mountain tops, casting a gleam that nearly blinds me. Which says a lot, given that the sun is basically a part of me, and it takes far more sunlight to hurt my eyes than it would for anyone else.

"It's beautiful," I say.

"It's also dangerous," Damien says. "Many climbers have tested their fates against these mountains, and many have failed."

"Have you ever climbed one?" I ask, since he's been alive for so long that I suppose anything is possible. Plus, he's not exactly one of "many climbers," given that he's a vampire with supernatural strength.

"Please," Blaze scoffs. "The only climbing he's ever done is social ladders and the occasional flight of stairs when the elevator's broken."

Damien picks up one of his daggers and tosses it in the air, catching the hilt perfectly in his palm.

"I've survived more centuries and battles than you've seen years," he says, somehow seeming to be looking down at Blaze, even though they're sitting on the same level. "Let's not confuse longevity with indolence."

Blaze's smirk fades under the weight of Damien's gaze. "Understood," he says, and all falls quiet between the four of us again.

We each make our way to the bathroom to change into gear more appropriate for whatever awaits us, grabbing sandwiches in between.

Soon, the runway comes into view.

My stomach flips at the sight of it. I'm no expert in aviation, but this runway is short—unnervingly so—wedged between the mountain on one side and a steep drop on the other.

"That doesn't look like it's going to be a smooth landing," I say, staring out at it in dread.

"Lukla's one of the most challenging airports in the world," Damien says. "But it's nothing our pilot can't handle."

True to his word, the landing is successful. The plane taxis to a small building that serves as the terminal, and as the engines power down, the reality of our location sinks in.

We're in the Himalayas. In Asia.

About to climb one of those impossibly tall, monstrous mountains that seem even more gigantic now that we're at the bottom of them.

We step off the plane, the crisp air sharper and colder than any winter back in Vermont. I tug my jacket closer, grateful for its warmth, and adjust myself to the feeling of the pack on my back.

"Your helicopter's waiting," one of the airport workers says, and he escorts us across the tarmac, where the helicopter's blades are already whirring in preparation for takeoff.

It's smaller than I expected. Compact and rugged, painted a bright red that stands out against the surrounding mountains.

"Ever been in a helicopter before?" Morgan asks.

"No," I say, surprised by how loud it gets as we move closer. So loud that I have to hold my hands to my ears to block out the noise. "And honestly, it's never been on my bucket list."

It's only a twenty-five minute helicopter ride to the Monastery of Shadows and Light.

The gateway between the earthly and mystical realm.

The location that will serve as our starting point for the quest for the Solar Scepter.

Soon, the monastery comes into view—an ancient structure of stone and wood that seems to grow out of the mountains themselves. It's surrounded by a halo of mist that dances around its peaks, shimmering with a ghostly essence, as if shielding it from prying eyes.

The helicopter touches down just outside the monastery grounds. From there, we bid our pilot goodbye, and Damien leads the way, his steps sure and measured as we ascend the stairs and approach the ancient, weathered doors that serve as the building's entrance.

As we walk, I can't help but feel small. I'm surrounded by towering mountains in a place that has stood the test of centuries. And despite my weeks of training, I don't feel ready for this in the slightest.

"You're doing great," Morgan says from behind me, as if she can sense my hesitation.

"Thanks," I say. "It's just, this place. It's…"

I pause, searching for the right word.

Beautiful doesn't cut it.

"Majestic," I finally say.

"It is," she agrees, and then, before I know it, we're at the top of the steps.

The doors to the monastery are open, since we arrived during visiting hours.

"We can just go in?" I ask, and the only answer I get is Damien making his way inside.

The rest of us follow, with Blaze last, watching our backs.

The air inside the ancient building is heavy, thick with the scent of incense. A few visitors are milling about, dressed from different regions around the world, and none of them pay us much attention. They're focused on soaking in the beauty of the building—the tapestries on the walls, the details painted on the bright yellow ceilings, and the intricate designs carved into the tall columns that hold it up.

"So, where do we find the Abbot?" I ask the others.

"Simple," Morgan says. "We ask."

"No need to ask," Blaze says. "I'm sure we can find him on our own."

"Why do men always refuse to save time by asking for directions?" Morgan huffs, rolls her eyes, and motions to a monk down the hall who's draped in red robes. "Come on—maybe he knows."

She leads the way, eventually stopping in front of the monk, who looks over our group curiously as he waits for us to speak.

"We're looking for the Abbot," Damien says, smooth and respectful. "Could you please direct us to him?"

The monk looks us over, and I worry he's going to tell us to leave and never come back.

Then, he nods slowly, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

"He's likely in the garden, tending to the herbs," he says. "Follow this corridor to the end, turn left, and head straight through the rear doors."

"Thank you," I say, and he nods again and continues on his way, his steps silent against the smooth stone floor.

We follow his directions in silence. Any conversation feels like it would destroy the peace of this beautiful place.

Like the rest of the monastery, the garden is beautiful. It's in a large courtyard in the center of the building, and it's lush with vegetation. Flowers bloom in wild abundance, and herbs fill the air with their strong, spicy scents.

In the middle of it all is an elderly man, his back to us, his hands buried in the soil of a flowerbed.

"Abbot?" Damien calls out gently, not wanting to startle him.

The man stands and turns, brushing the dirt from his hands onto his robes. His face is lined with age, but his eyes are sharp and clear.

"Yes?" he asks.

I step forward, taking the lead, given this is my mission.

"Sunneva sent us here," I tell him. "The sun goddess. We're looking for the Solar Scepter, and she said this is where we had to come to find it."