The mountain vanished, and then we started to climb.

We pressed forward anyway. The red earth beneath our boots had turned into a slippery, rushing stream of mud. Every step required absolute focus. The air smelled of wet soil and crushed grass, fresh and intensely cold. My lungs burned with the steep incline as we scrambled over wet basalt boulders, our hands gripping wild roots for balance. The wind howled through the deep gorges, a wild, deafening roar that made our adrenaline surge.

Near the top, the trail narrowed to a thin ridge. White mist swept across our feet, making it feel like we were walking on air. Suddenly, the climb ended. We were standing on the summit plateau, completely surrounded by moving clouds. For a split second, the wind ripped the fog apart, revealing a dizzying glimpse of the neon-green valley far below before swallowing it whole again. In that freezing, breathless moment, the world felt entirely ours.