It was a world of white and grey.

Flurries of powdered snow filtered down from the overcast sky, the crystals unhurriedly moving to join their brethren already hiding the soil and rock below. Each footfall was accompanied by the sound of crushed ice beneath, each step pulling itself free from the blanket of frost only to return to its embrace scant inches farther.

The snow wrapped all the way up to the knee as though it were alive, hindering progress while the air served its own part in deterring trespassers. The frigid locale was paired with a thin atmosphere, and while the snow could hardly be considered heavy on its own, every breath turned progress into an ordeal. It was a struggle not against man nor beast, but against a lack of oxygen and the body’s undeniable need for it.

Hope’s Mountain lived up to its name only when viewed from afar.

Taken in by its lovely appearance, many a person had fallen for its unassuming guise and tried to scale its heights. There had even been organized efforts to reach the top itself—full complements of adventurers and explorers turned into would-be-tourists—and yet no matter the numbers, every person that had tried to traverse this forbidden domain was inevitably lost. Despite the picturesque tranquility of its landscape, it was scarce a wonder why it had become so resolutely avoided; no matter how many tried, no matter how much time passed, the peak was still untouched by mortal hands.

Not even I had touched upon it yet.

The wind howled defiantly against my body as though to fling me from the very precipice I walked. “Go back” it all but seemed to howl as it tore at the heavy cloak bearing the brunt of the assault. “You’ll never make it.”

And it was true.

As many others before, I too had underestimated the mountain’s treachery, and by now the sun was beginning to set upon the distant horizon. The already grey world was dipped into yet darker shadows, the chill growing ever more tenacious against my clothing, and the dark browns of my protective cloth—once lightly wettened from the exposure of snow to body heat—were now left stained and heavy with formations of ice.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Had I set out a few hours earlier, perhaps the mountain’s peak would not have eluded me so. Though it was within range of my eyes—its slight curvature lancing brazenly into the sky—it was no longer within range of my feet. Neither snow nor gale could have truly stopped me had I been more dedicated; even now, all the former could manage was to cling desperately to my form while the latter was relegated to spewing imagined invectives. With most of the dangerous terrain behind me, even the encroaching darkness was more an irritant than a true barrier, and enough care could feasibly lead me ever onward.

No. I simply lacked time.

With only a small portion of the mountain left untread, I stopped.

The weather that had proven so discourteous before was turned to a makeshift cushion as I set myself upon it, the ice and snow bending just enough to support my weight while conforming comfortably to the shape of my body. The wind, too—as though sensing my acquiescence, my defeat—turned to a passive spectator content to watch placidly from the sidelines.

Though I had intended to reach the summit, the progress I’d made had left me with a view no less splendid. A brilliant gold stretched across the horizon, the sun bathing the world at its fore in its splendor even as the pinpricks of stars skirted impatiently just beyond its reach. Not even the snow-covered expanse around me was left without impression, and it was only here—with the crystalline ice glimmering and shining as it fell—that I truly came to peace with failing my original objective.

Two years.

It had been two years ago to this day that I’d first stumbled around the nearby city, no more than a novice asking around for directions and a place for bread. Two full years of exploration and adventure, all culminating into this final sunset. It hadn’t been easy, and—as the mountain around me would attest—I hadn’t even always been successful.

But it had been fun.

And so, as the brilliance before me began to die down, as night began to reassert itself upon the sky’s domain, I bid my own farewell to the land I’d begun to consider my home. To the land of Aurora.

And as the last sliver of light disappeared for the final time, the world was blanketed in darkness.

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