After the wagon stood safely on the trail again, the caravan did not immediately continue moving. For a brief moment, something lingered in the air that was difficult to define, a mixture of aftermath and restraint, as though the mountain itself was still deciding whether it had been right to let them continue onward. Nobody spoke loudly, nobody made hurried movements, and yet the tension was no longer the same as before. It had not vanished, but it had changed, stepped back slightly, making room for something that allowed movement again.
Slowly, the group began moving once more, hesitant at first, then more steadily, as though the rhythm of the path itself had resumed control. The narrow ridge that moments ago had felt like a single wrong decision waiting to happen became a trail again, though still one demanding constant attention. The abyss remained there, deep and merciless, but it was no longer the center of every movement. Instead, it became a constant companion at the edge of vision, something familiar enough that it no longer inspired fresh terror with every step.
Samuel walked behind Gustov and still felt the faint trembling in his hands. Not strong enough to truly hinder him, but present enough to remind him how close everything had just come. The injuries on his hands were worse now, deeper. His fingers felt unfamiliar, as though they had briefly held something far too large for them, and his breathing had not yet fully calmed, even though his body was already trying to return to normal. The wind swept across the ridge and carried away the sounds of the caravan, the creaking of the wagons, the footsteps of the Orcs, the quiet snorting of the animals. Everything blended with the vastness of the landscape until it felt as though the mountain range itself absorbed those sounds and carried them onward.
The children were the first to break the silence again. They had spread themselves between the wagons, running a few steps ahead and back as though testing how far they could drift from the order of the adults before someone called them back. Their voices were bright and unrestrained, and in those voices lingered a curiosity untouched by the danger from before, or perhaps one that had already moved beyond it.
One of the children walked beside Samuel and looked at him from the side, as though observing him for longer than just this moment. It did not take long before the first question came, simple and direct, without hesitation, giving Samuel the impression that conversations like these were not unusual here, but part of the rhythm of daily life.
"What do you actually do for fun when you're not working?" the child asked.
Samuel blinked, as though the question had touched something inside him he could not immediately grasp. Images surfaced in his mind that did not belong here, rooms not made of stone or wood, but of artificial light, of screens, of virtual worlds he had moved through without ever leaving his room. It was a brief moment of confusion, because he realized how distant those things felt now, not only physically, but as a concept itself.
Oh no! Who's collecting my daily rewards now? I spent so much time reaching Diamond rank in Valorant. Were all those all-nighters for nothing? What the hell. I miss my air-conditioned room. I miss my PC.
He eventually said that he used to spend a lot of time playing games because he had never really needed to work. He did not explain the "games" further in order to protect his secret. The children reacted immediately, as though the idea itself was something entirely foreign, and one of them directly asked why he had so much free time. Samuel tried to explain it, but the more he explained, the more clearly he realized himself how fortunate he had been to be born into his world. That time he had possessed, time not filled by necessity, but by choice.
"Typical human," they said together.
The children's reaction was less surprised than amused. Some laughed briefly, others shook their heads, and there was no cruelty in their laughter, only the feeling of something they themselves had never been able to imagine differently. For them it was unthinkable that someone could have that much free time at all. They casually explained that they themselves hardly had time for such things, that most days consisted of work, of tasks, of things that needed to be done before anything else could even be considered. To them, what Samuel described sounded more like a story from another world, and in truth, it was. Physically another world, but socially as well.
When the question about games came up again, Samuel briefly panicked. In his mind, many of those things were far too difficult to explain in this world. None of it could simply be spoken aloud without sounding completely alien. For a few seconds he asked himself over and over whether he could tell them the truth, whether he could trust them. So he made a decision and finally said something that immediately felt strangely deliberate to him: football, simply because it was the first thing that still seemed remotely understandable.
To his surprise, the children did not react with confusion. Quite the opposite. Some nodded immediately as though it were perfectly normal, and one of them casually mentioned that people sometimes played it when there was enough space and time. Samuel paused for a moment, because this small detail did not fit the image he had built of this world, but he decided not to question it further. It was easier to leave it alone than to explain it.
The conversation shifted toward the event from an hour earlier. Before long, the children began teasing him, saying he seemed rather weak compared to them, especially after the incident with the wagon. They laughed while saying it, but it was not cruel laughter. It was the kind that came from familiarity, from the way groups teased one another naturally. Samuel was more aware of his own weakness than any of them; for him, their words were simply a spoken confirmation of something he already knew. The children meant no harm by it, but they could not know how deeply he would take it.
Why do I have to be so weak? Why can I do so little? If only I had been a little faster, maybe I could have saved her. Then I'd be home now, with my parents and siblings.
As they continued onward, the trail changed once more. The narrow ridge remained dangerous, but less extreme now. The cliff wall pulled back slightly, and while the abyss still remained present, it retreated somewhat from the immediate edge, as though the world had decided to grant them a brief pause from the constant nearness of the void. The movement of the caravan changed with it. It became steadier, less tense, the footsteps flowing again rather than merely enduring. The mountain horses began to relax.
At some point Samuel realized his gaze kept drifting toward the animals pulling the wagons.
Samuel asked with slight concern:
"Are the mountain horses alright?"
Gustov explained with complete casualness, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, that they were a kind of mountain horse specifically made for such altitudes. Samuel observed them more carefully and tried to understand what exactly he was looking at, because the animals did not fully match the image he had of horses.
Their bodies resembled horses in shape, but their heads looked heavier, broader, almost like those of hippopotamuses, though not clumsy, rather stable, as though perfectly designed for these heights. Their manes fell down the sides of their necks, but appeared denser, tougher, and their legs possessed a kind of strength built less for speed and more for stability. It was this mixture of unfamiliarity and practicality that fascinated Samuel, because it did not feel invented, but necessary.
Gustov explained that these creatures had not simply been bred, but adapted to this environment over a long period of time, through selection, through survival, through everything a world like this apparently demanded. Samuel listened without immediately understanding all of it, but with a growing acceptance that this world had its own rules, ones that did not necessarily need to be explained in order to function.
The farther they walked, the more the landscape opened again. The path gradually widened, and eventually they reached a place where the mountain was no longer merely a narrow passage, but spread outward into a natural plateau. It was not a sudden transition, but more like a slow relief, as though the mountain allowed them to remain there briefly before continuing onward.
The caravan stopped.
The wagons were parked, the animals cared for, and small fires were lit. The air grew colder, though not unpleasantly so, rather clearer, and the smell of food began to spread as simple soup was cooked in large kettles. Samuel sat slightly apart from the others on a stone and held his bowl in both hands, feeling the warmth through the metal while he slowly ate and allowed his body to settle again.
As they ate, the sun lowered farther beyond the horizon. The world changed once more, this time without sudden danger or tension, but through a slow transition from light into darkness, and from color into shades of grey. The mountains cast long shadows, the plains below them began to glow as though the grass itself stored light, and the sky became a deep gradient of orange, gold, and slowly darkening blue.
It was a kind of peace that was not empty, but full.
The wind moved quietly across the plateau, carrying with it the voices of the Orcs, the soft laughter of the children, the crackling of the fire, all blending into a single, steady sound. Samuel looked out across the vastness and for a moment felt that this world, despite all its harshness, possessed its own form of beauty, one that did not comfort, but endured.
Beside him sat Gustov, who eventually said quietly that days like this were rare, not because they were free from danger, but because despite everything, they continued onward. Samuel did not answer immediately. He only watched as the sun slowly disappeared behind the mountains and left the world behind in a calm, darkening silence that was not frightening, but complete.
And while the last remnants of light faded away, something remained behind that was difficult to name, but impossible not to feel: a day that had continued despite everything, and a journey that was still far from its end.