With his supplies packed and a heavy sense of anticipation weighing on him, Jack stood at the edge of the valley, looking out at the vast, frozen wilderness beyond. The morning air was crisp, the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow. The tribe had gathered to see him off, their faces a mixture of pride and sorrow.
Garrak stepped forward, gripping Jack's shoulder. "The land beyond the mountains is treacherous," he warned. "You must be careful."
Jack nodded, appreciating the concern. "I will."
Yarra, the elder who had told him of the legends, approached last. She handed him a small bundle wrapped in animal hide. "A talisman for protection," she said. "It may not hold power over the elements, but it will remind you of where you come from."
Jack unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a simple carved stone, its surface smooth and warm despite the cold. He clenched it in his fist and gave her a grateful nod. "Thank you."
With a final glance at the tribe, Jack turned and took his first steps into the unknown.
The journey began with a slow trek through the lower hills, where the wind was less punishing. He moved carefully, avoiding deep snowdrifts and scanning for predators. The land here was quiet, but not lifeless—small birds flitted from tree to tree, and he occasionally spotted tracks of elk and wolves in the snow. His senses remained on high alert, knowing that any wrong move could cost him his life.
Days passed, each one colder and more grueling than the last. He navigated across frozen rivers, climbed over jagged ridges, and slept in caves where the wind howled like a hungry beast outside. His body ached from exhaustion, but he pushed forward, driven by the hope that the mysterious place Yarra spoke of truly existed.
One evening, as he huddled near a fire in a rocky crevice, he pulled the talisman from his pack and ran his fingers over its surface. He thought of the tribe, of their warmth and strength. He had left them behind, but in many ways, they were still with him. That thought gave him comfort, even as the loneliness of the wilderness pressed in on him.
On the fifth day, Jack reached the base of a towering mountain range. The peaks loomed above him, their jagged edges cutting into the sky like the teeth of some ancient beast. He could feel a strange energy in the air, a hum that vibrated just beneath the surface of reality. Yarra's words echoed in his mind: "A place where time bends."
Taking a deep breath, he began his ascent.
The climb was treacherous. Ice coated the rocks, making every step a risk. The cold seeped into his bones, and his fingers stiffened against the rope he had fashioned from animal hide. He moved slowly, deliberately, testing each foothold before shifting his weight. Hours passed, and the higher he climbed, the stronger the strange energy became.
Then, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he spotted something unusual—a structure half-buried in the snow, its surface smooth and dark against the surrounding ice. His heart pounded in his chest. This was no natural formation. It was something else—something ancient.
Shaking off his fatigue, Jack pressed forward. He didn't know what he would find beyond these mountains, but he knew one thing for certain: he was getting closer to the truth.