The Edge to Trollveggen the Edge

Posted on Sun Apr 5th, 2026 @ 5:06pm by Commander Jenna Ramthorne & Commander Rosa Coy

1,174 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: Earth - Trollveggen

Upper Ascent

The mountain narrowed its tolerance the higher she climbed, as though it chose to measure her in smaller and smaller truths. Holds thinned into suggestion, edges pressed into her fingertips with the quiet demand of precision, and the wall leaned away just enough to remind her that gravity had been patient the entire time. Wind threaded itself through the rock face and found her, slipping beneath fabric, tugging at balance, asking questions her muscles answered without hesitation.

Her forearms began to speak first, a deep tightening that bloomed into heat, then into something sharper, something that asked for compromise. She adjusted without spectacle, hips shifting closer to the stone, toes seeking purchase where there was none. Her breathing rose, faltered, then settled again as she drew air slow and deliberate, holding it just long enough to remind her body who was in command.

You feel that, don't you? Handzon murmured, his presence sliding forward with a familiarity that irritated as much as it tempted. That edge where everything sharpens. That moment right before something gives. Oh, that’s the good part. That’s where you stop pretending you're in control.

Her fingers tightened on the hold. Chalk ground into skin. She shifted again, pulled, rose another inch.

You could have let go, he continued, softer now, coaxing, as though the idea itself carried intimacy. Skipped the rest of the climb. Skipped the ritual. You wanted the fall, to let go, not the steps that led to it. I knew that feeling. I owned that feeling.

Rosa exhaled through her nose, steady, controlled, the breath cutting through him like a boundary drawn in air. “You don’t own anything here,” she said, her voice low, carried away almost immediately by the wind. “You’re just a slug along for the ride.”

Her hand moved again, finding a hold so small it existed more in trust than in fact, and she committed to it anyway.

The wall steepened. Exposure opened. The space beneath her stopped feeling like distance and became absence, something vast enough to swallow meaning if her attention drifted too far downward. Wind pressed harder now, no longer a whisper but a presence, pushing against her back, sliding along her sides, testing the seams of her focus.

There have been edges like this before Coy entered, not interrupting, not competing, simply existing within the same space, voice layered with a quiet that carried weight. Azra stood at the lip of a monastery cliff during a season of famine. There was nothing left to give, nothing left to take. He stood, and he breathed, and he accepted that the moment did not need to break in order to be complete.

Rosa paused, not out of weakness but intention, allowing the memory to settle into her bones the way the wind settled into her suit.

Blaze faced a hull breach with the same stillness Coy continued, the tone neither comforting nor cold, simply certain. He did not rush the decision. He did not chase the fear. He allowed the moment to reveal its shape before he acted.

Her breath slowed further. The burn in her arms remained. The exposure remained. Handzon’s presence coiled just beneath her awareness, and something aligned within her, something that held all of it without fracture.

She climbed. Each movement became deliberate, each shift a quiet agreement between body and stone. The summit ridge approached slowly as a transition, a threshold that waited for her to arrive exactly as she was.

When she pulled herself over the final edge, the world opened without restraint.

The Troll Wall dropped away beneath her in a single, overwhelming statement of vertical space. The air felt larger, wilder, tearing at her suit, pressing against her chest, filling her ears with a roar that carried a deeper silence beneath it. The valley stretched into distance, and the drop beneath her feet became something absolute.

She stood. Present in the moment. The wind moved around her, through her, as though testing whether she belonged in that place.

Now this Handzon breathed, hunger curling through the thought. This is what it’s about. Not the climb. Not the discipline. This moment. This edge. You feel how close it is, don’t you. How easy it would be to step forward and let it take you. That rush, that surrender. That’s mine. That’s always been mine.

Rosa reached for her harness, fingers steady as she stripped away the climbing gear piece by piece. Carabiners unclasped with soft metallic clicks, rope coiled free, weight lifted from her body in careful increments. Each motion carried intention, ritual layered over necessity, until she stood lighter, unburdened by anything that did not belong to what came next.

“You don’t get this,” she said, not raising her voice, not feeding his intensity, simply placing the truth where it belonged. “This is mine.”

The wingsuit unfolded from her pack like a second skin waiting to be claimed. She stepped into it with practiced familiarity, drawing the fabric up, sealing it along her limbs, checking each connection with precise attention. Fingers ran along seams, tension lines, closures, confirming integrity, confirming readiness. Her body settled into the suit as though it had always known the shape.

Wind pressed harder now, catching at the wings, tugging gently, insistently.

You think control makes this yours Handzon pressed, closer now, more intimate in tone. You think discipline separates you from me. It doesn’t. That feeling building in your chest, that need to step off, that hunger for the drop. That’s me. That’s always been me.

Desire is not ownership Coy answered, the words carrying the weight of lives that had considered the question before. It is a signal. It asks to be understood, not obeyed.

Rosa closed her eyes for a single breath.

The wind. The height. The pressure of the suit against her skin. The burn still lingering in her arms. Handzon’s insistence curling at the edges. Coy’s steadiness anchoring beneath it all.

She let it all exist. Her breathing evened, deep and measured, each inhale filling her fully, each exhale releasing with intention. Her heart steadied, aligning with the moment as it stood before her.

She stepped forward. Her toes met the edge, then passed it, hanging over nothing, the world opening beneath her in a way that felt both infinite and immediate. Wind surged upward, wrapping around her, lifting at the wingsuit, asking the question that had always waited.

This is it Handzon whispered, anticipation threading through every syllable. This is where you let go.

This is where you choose Coy offered, calm, certain, patient as time itself.

Rosa inhaled. The air filled her lungs, her chest, the space where fear and thrill and memory converged into something singular.

She leaned. Choosing.

TBC

 

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