The mountain had not changed, yet it felt different the farther north the caravan advanced.
It was not a sudden transformation, no visible shift from safe trail to dangerous passage, but rather a quiet sharpening of the landscape itself. The path, which had already clung to the cliffside like a narrow incision through stone, now became something that barely deserved the name "path" at all. A line of hardened rock suspended between two worlds: on one side the mountain, massive and unmoving like something that had always existed, and on the other side a void that was not merely depth, but distance without end.
Samuel did not notice this change first with his eyes.
But with his body.
The ground beneath his boots felt harder than before, as though the mountain itself had decided it would no longer forgive mistakes. Every step produced a faint, dry crunch that was immediately seized by the wind and carried down into the abyss. And the wind up here was different from the one below. Not stronger in the usual sense, but clearer, more direct, as if it did not blow around things, but straight through them.
Samuel noticed that he was breathing more slowly without consciously deciding to.
The air was thin, but not unpleasant. More as though it offered less mercy. Every breath was deliberate, every exhale a small piece of control that had to be surrendered just to keep moving forward.
Then he looked to the right.
And for a moment, the mountain stopped being a landscape.
Where the trail ended, the world simply fell away. Not in a way that could easily be described, but as a radical absence of support. The abyss was so deep that it no longer felt like "down," but like another category of space entirely. Rocks hung somewhere far below, half-swallowed by mist, as though they had been abandoned there by accident. Between them was nothing that could be grasped. No transition. No ground. Only air that refused to explain itself.
Samuel quickly turned his gaze forward again.
His heart beat faster, but not chaotically.
More awake.
Too awake.
"Gustov? Tell me, can the... uh... what kind of creatures are these, anyway?"
Gustov seemed slightly surprised by the question. He had always assumed everyone knew these creatures.
"Those are mountain horses. Very strong and loyal animals."
"Interesting. They look like a mixture of a hippopotamus and a horse. This world keeps surprising me."
Ahead of him, the caravan continued onward as though it had long since adapted to this part of the mountain. The wagons formed a slow, careful line, each wheel exactly where it needed to be, every step of the animals aligned with something nobody spoke aloud but everyone understood: here, there would be no second chances.
The mountain horses walked in front.
Massive, calm, almost immovable. In this environment their bodies seemed less like animals and more like a piece of the mountain that had decided to move. Their broad hooves settled onto the stone with a natural confidence that was almost unsettling. Samuel watched the muscles shift beneath their thick skin, steady and even, without visible strain.
It was as though the mountain accepted them.
Or perhaps they accepted the mountain.
The first wagon approached the narrowest section.
And even from a distance Samuel could hear the wood strain slightly before it entered the passage. A quiet, deep creaking that sounded less like noise and more like the memory of pressure.
The trail narrowed so severely there that the wagon barely fit. To the left, the cliff wall so close one could have counted the uneven cracks in the stone. To the right, nothing but air and a drop that instantly stripped away any illusion of safety.
The wagon moved into it.
Slowly.
Almost reluctantly.
The wheels rolled over stone, and every small obstacle became a decision between stability and collapse. Samuel instinctively held his breath, though no one had told him to. It was simply a reaction his body had taken over for him.
The wagon swayed slightly.
Once.
Then again.
Nothing dramatic.
But enough to force the entire group into a different kind of awareness.
The people around him grew quieter, not because they had agreed to, but because everything automatically focused itself. Conversations faded. Movements became smaller. Even the sounds of the environment seemed muted, as though the mountain itself had decided there was no room for distraction here.
The wagon reached the narrowest point of the trail.
The right wheel rolled so close to the edge that small stones already slipped loose beneath its weight and vanished soundlessly into the depths. Nobody spoke anymore. Even the wind seemed different now. It no longer whistled over the mountain, but tore cold and hard through the ravine as though trying to rip everything from the cliffs.
Then a sound rang out.
A dry crack.
Small.
But wrong.
Samuel's entire body tensed instantly.
The right rear wheel suddenly dropped several inches.
The wagon tilted.
Not much.
Only a few degrees.
But it was enough.
One of the Orcs immediately shouted something toward the front, and suddenly the calm of the caravan exploded into motion. The mountain horses threw their heads up nervously, heavy hooves scraping against stone, harness chains clattering violently together.
The wagon's wood groaned.
Loudly.
Too loudly.
Samuel watched the entire load shift dangerously toward the right side. Crates slid against each other with harsh creaks, ropes stretched to their limits. The right wheel rolled halfway over the edge.
Then a section of rock beneath it broke away.
Samuel never heard the stone hit the bottom.
It simply fell.
And disappeared.
For one terrible moment, the weight of the wagon pulled outward.
The entire cart slid.
Perhaps only half a meter.
But enough for several people to lose their footing at once.
One Orc dropped to his knees. Another was slammed against the cliff wall. The mountain horses bellowed now, deep and aggressive, their massive bodies instinctively straining against the harness.
"HOLD IT!"
The voice cut through the panic like a strike.
Samuel moved before he even realized he was doing it.
He lunged forward, grabbed one of the tension ropes, and was immediately yanked brutally downward. The wagon's weight shot through his shoulders as though the entire mountain had hung itself from his arms.
His hands burned instantly.
The rope bit into his skin.
His boots slid across the stone, dangerously close to the edge, and suddenly the abyss opened beside him.
Not depth.
Not distance.
Only emptiness.
His stomach tightened violently.
The wagon tilted farther.
Slowly.
Unstoppably.
Wood splintered somewhere inside. Metal screamed against stone. Samuel heard someone cursing. Heard animals shrieking. Could no longer hear his own breathing.
Then suddenly someone seized the rope behind him.
Gustov.
The Orc drove his feet into the ground and pulled back with a force that seemed almost inhuman. More Orcs rushed forward, grabbing the wagon's sides, bracing shoulders against wood, wheels, against the sheer weight of the situation itself.
The wagon now hung half over the ravine.
Samuel dared a glance downward.
And regretted it immediately.
There was nothing there.
No safety.
No end.
Only mist and stone somewhere far below them.
The right wheel spun uselessly over the abyss.
Another inch.
Another little inch—
"DON'T LET GO!"
Samuel himself shouted without realizing the voice had come from him.
His arms trembled uncontrollably now. Pain shot through his shoulders, his hands had long since torn open, but he kept pulling. Every muscle in his body burned like fire.
Then it happened.
A violent jolt tore through the wagon.
So hard Samuel thought the rope would rip his arms from their sockets.
But instead of tipping farther outward, the right wheel suddenly snapped back onto the trail.
The entire wagon crashed hard against the stone.
The impact shook the ground.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Only the heavy breathing of the animals could be heard.
And the crunch of small stones still falling into the depths.
Samuel let go of the rope.
His hands trembled so violently he could barely open his fingers.
Beside him stood Gustov, his gaze still fixed on the wagon.
Then he said calmly:
"Good reaction."
Nothing more. Just those words, full of recognition.
And the caravan began moving again, as though the mountain itself had decided this section was now complete. The trail remained dangerous nonetheless.
But according to the others, the worst stretch had now been passed.
And while the group continued northward, behind them remained only the narrow ridge where a single wrong moment had nearly been enough to end everything.
Ahead of them lay the next stretch.
Still unknown. Still silent.
And the mountain remained silent as well, though it no longer took its eyes off the group.