In the midst of a vast mountain range, where jagged peaks stretched endlessly into the horizon, a caravan of around twenty figures moved steadily across the rugged terrain.
The air was cool and thin, each breath sharp in their lungs.
Gravel crunched beneath their boots as a steady wind swept along the slopes, tugging at their robes and sending chills through their bodies.
Above them, the sun broke through drifting clouds, its gentle warmth offering brief relief from the cold.
They were all clad in fine robes marked with the emblem of the Midas Merchant Organization, the fabric faintly glowing with enchantments that helped them endure the harsh environment.
From their path, the view was breathtaking.
Mountains rose and fell like waves of stone, forming a natural border that stretched as far as the eye could see, their distant peaks fading into mist.
Despite the beauty, the climb remained unforgiving.
