Journey to the Summit

The world was muted, swathed in a predawn fog that clung to the jagged peaks like a shroud. A biting wind whipped around them, carrying the scent of pine and wet stone. Elias, the mountaineer, his face weathered and etched with the stories of a thousand climbs, stamped his boots against the frozen ground, trying to coax some warmth back into his numb toes. Beside him, Kaelen, his guide, a wiry man with eyes as sharp as flint, adjusted the strap of his pack. Kaelen was younger, perhaps mid-thirties, with sun-browned skin and a close-cropped beard that did little to hide the intensity of his gaze. He wore practical, layered clothing designed for the harsh mountain conditions, a stark contrast to Elias's more worn, though equally functional, gear. "Almost there," Kaelen rasped, his breath misting in the frigid air. "Sunrise will be something to behold from the summit." He pointed towards a barely discernible ridge swallowed by the fog. "We push on to the ridge and set up camp."