The sunrise slowly crept over the mountains, as if the world had forgotten how to become bright all at once.At first, only the sky changed. The black of night thinned, lost its depth, and transformed into a quiet, cold blue. The stars did not truly disappear; they simply became meaningless in the face of the approaching light.The mountains lay motionless beneath the morning.
Grand.Dark.Empty.
Between the peaks, mist hung like sleeping memory. There was no movement in it, no sound, no life. The valleys felt endless, as if the world down there had stopped holding onto anything of significance.
Then, at the horizon, a narrow band of light appeared.
Not warm.Not friendly.Only pale gold and still.
It slowly spread, drawing color across the sky—first gray, then a washed-out orange, above it a cold blue still clinging to the night. Everything felt soft and distant, as if the world were made of light that had been alone for too long.
The first rays of sunlight touched the highest peaks.
For a moment, they began to glow, quiet and perfect, as though they had never been touched by humans. Gold lay on snow and stone, yet even this light brought no warmth. It only made the mountains more visible.And with them, their loneliness.
The light slowly wandered lower over the slopes, flowing silently through valleys and across empty plains where nothing waited. The mist began to glow—not bright, but transparent, like something on the verge of vanishing.
The sun itself appeared only later.
Slowly it rose above the horizon, large and silent, without drama, without meaning. It illuminated the world, but did not change it. The mountains remained silent. The wind stayed distant. And the vastness between the peaks felt even greater as the morning grew brighter.
It was beautiful—in a way that offered no comfort. A beauty without closeness, without voice, without answer. Only light over a world that had learned to continue existing without anyone.
And thus, a new day began in search of a new home.
Samuel opened his eyes slowly. The light made his otherwise brown eyes shimmer with a honey-like glow. His pupils contracted in response to the overwhelming brightness. He stretched his arms and legs, exhaling calmly. Finally, he rubbed his eyes before standing up.
He helped the others gather hay and load the blankets onto the wagons. Most of the time he stayed in the background, working steadily and trying to carefully integrate himself into the group's routines without drawing unnecessary attention. Over time, he began to develop a sense for when his help was needed and when it was better to keep his distance. It seemed as though he was slowly, step by step, finding a place within the orc community—even if that path was anything but easy.
Despite these small improvements, the distance from most of the orcs remained clearly noticeable. Many still avoided him or regarded him with suspicion, as if he didn't truly belong—something he never really did. Conversations remained rare and brief, and often he only received silent, assessing glances. Only the children were more open, occasionally seeking contact with him, as well as Gustov, who treated him with a certain reliability and without prejudice. Because of this, there were at least a few moments in which he did not feel completely excluded.
The group set off again toward their new home. The sun bathed the path ahead in golden light.
"We're already so high up that not even bushes grow anymore. On top of that, it's getting harder and harder for me to breathe. I hope I can keep up with the others."
Samuel and Gustov walked side by side again. The wind was noticeably stronger than before. Samuel's black hair was caught by the gusts, dancing restlessly in the air like blades of grass on the wide plains below them.
For a long time, neither of them said anything. The crunch of their steps on the rocky ground became a steady rhythm, blending with the rattling of wagon wheels. Now and then, the dull snorting of a pack animal or the distant laughter of a child from one of the wagons could be heard, but even those sounds felt small in the vast silence of the mountains.
The higher they climbed, the more the landscape changed. The last bushes had long disappeared. Even grass became increasingly rare. Only here and there did small plants cling to cracks in the rock, as if desperately trying to resist the altitude and wind. The earth turned grayer and harder until almost nothing but stone remained. Up here, the mountains felt older, rougher, and more immense, as if thousands of years of wind and weather had stripped away everything unnecessary.
Samuel lifted his gaze toward the peaks. They seemed closer than the day before, and yet impossibly far away. Their summits rose silently into the sky, as if watching over a world that had long forgotten how small its inhabitants truly were.
He could feel the altitude now. At first, he had thought he was imagining it. But by now, every breath was a little heavier than the last. Not enough to cause real fear, but enough to constantly remind him that his body was struggling with the conditions. The air was cold and clear, yet it seemed to contain less of what his lungs were actually searching for.
He glanced at the other orcs.
None of them seemed to struggle in the same way.
Even the older members of the group moved with an endurance Samuel could hardly comprehend. Some carried heavy sacks on their shoulders, others pulled wagons over the uneven terrain, and yet they looked less exhausted than he did. Their steps remained steady and certain, as if they had been born for such paths.
"We're already so high up that not even bushes grow anymore. And on top of that, it's getting harder and harder for me to breathe. I hope I can keep up with the others."
Gustov noticed his glance and smirked.
"The altitude is getting to you, isn't it?"
Samuel nodded.
"A little."
The old orc gave a dry laugh.
"A little? You're breathing like you're about to collapse."
"It's not that bad."
"Of course not," Gustov said with a grin. "You humans never admit when something hurts."
Samuel snorted softly.
"And orcs?"
"We simply don't complain."
Samuel couldn't help but smile briefly.
For a moment, they fell silent again. Ahead of them, the path wound along the mountainside in long curves. At times it became so narrow that the caravan had to walk in single file. On one side rose the rock wall, harsh and unyielding. On the other, the ground dropped steeply into a depth Samuel increasingly preferred not to look at for too long.
Still, his gaze occasionally drifted over the edge.
The world below now felt almost unreal. Forests appeared as small dark patches in the green expanse of the plains. Rivers shimmered in the distance like thin silver threads. Everything felt both enormous and infinitely far away.
The wind grew stronger.
It whistled through the rocks, making loose fabric flap. Sometimes it carried voices from the caravan, which quickly vanished again into the vastness.
The hours passed slowly.
The sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, yet the warmth barely reached them up here. The light was bright, almost blinding, but the air remained cold. Samuel now felt exhaustion in his legs. Each step cost a little more strength than the last. His muscles grew heavy, and his back began to ache.
The orcs seemed unaffected.
They kept walking.
Unyielding.
Steady.
As if there were no difference between an hour and an entire day of marching.
Samuel began to understand why even the older orcs still appeared so strong. Their entire lives seemed built around labor, movement, and endurance. What was already exhausting for him seemed to be nothing more than an ordinary morning for them.
Eventually, he had to sit down in one of the wagons.
No one commented on it.
No one mocked him.
It was simply accepted.
He sank down between sacks and blankets and took a deep breath. His legs immediately thanked him.
As the wagon rolled slowly onward, Samuel leaned back and looked up.
Above him stretched a wide, cloudless sky. A few birds circled high above the caravan. From time to time, their sharp cries could be heard, carried with surprising clarity through the thin mountain air.
Perhaps even too clearly.
Samuel closed his eyes briefly.
The rhythm of the wheels, the swaying of the wagon, and the steady wind created something almost soothing. For the first time in a long while, he did not feel immediately threatened.
Not hunted.
Not lost.
Just tired.
But in that exact moment, his stomach made itself known.
A long, drawn-out growl broke the silence.
Samuel grimaced.
I still haven't gotten used to them only eating twice a day. And on top of that, they skipped breakfast today. At least these small discomforts are better than the ones before.
He placed a hand on his stomach and looked back out at the passing mountains.
The landscape was beautiful.
And at the same time, it constantly reminded him how far he was from home.