My First Lore

The biting wind whipped at Elara's exposed cheeks, stinging them red as she crested the final rise. Dawn painted the eastern sky in bruised purples and fiery oranges, a breathtaking panorama that momentarily stole her breath. Fog, thick as cotton, clung to the lower slopes, swallowing the world below in a silent, ethereal embrace. Beside her, Kael, a man carved from granite and weathered leather, planted his axe firmly in the snow. His face, framed by a thick, salt-and-pepper beard, was unreadable. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his worn jacket doing little to protect him from the elements. "We made good time," he said, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the wind. He pulled a thermos from his pack, unscrewed the lid, and offered it to Elara. "Coffee?" Elara nodded gratefully, her gloved hands numb with cold. The hot liquid burned a welcome path down her throat. As she sipped, Kael pointed towards a jagged peak piercing the swirling fog. "The summit," he announced. "But the real climb begins now."