Elohims wrath

Mikkel walked at the front of the group, his eyes focused on the small, outdated GPS device in his hand. It flickered with faint signals, guiding him along the narrow, snow-packed trail. But the path ahead felt distant to him, as though his thoughts were somewhere else, weaving through memories and unanswered questions he had carried for years.

Beside him, Ugle walked in silence, his long brown hair falling over his weathered face, nearly hiding the faint, quiet smile that seemed to mask his thoughts. Ugle had always struck Mikkel as both familiar and enigmatic—a friend, a quiet guide, like a second brother. They had grown old in the same village, though Ugle was just slightly younger than Lars. His face, thin and pale as snow, gave him an otherworldly look, as if he belonged somewhere else entirely. Even among the villagers, Ugle had always stood out—a tall, slender figure with a strong, sinewy build that made him both nimble and swift.

Ugle's voice broke the silence, his tone soft and contemplative. "Mikkel, have you ever thought about what it is to be truly loved?"

Mikkel looked up, caught off guard by the question. Ugle's dark brown eyes met his, holding a steady gaze that conveyed a quiet but persistent curiosity.

"What do you mean by that, Ugle?" Mikkel asked, his brow furrowing.

"I mean… you and I, we never had lovers, never had children. We've survived our whole lives without ever knowing what that kind of love feels like." Ugle's voice was as calm and steady as ever, but something in his words made Mikkel pause.

Mikkel let his gaze drift back to the GPS, his fingers tightening slightly around it. "I had family—blood-related family," he replied slowly. "They just… didn't live long. And the people behind us? They're as real a family as any I could have."

"True enough. I suppose you're right." Ugle's faint smile softened, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. "Sorry, Mikkel. I didn't mean to pry."

Mikkel shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the GPS. "No need to apologize, Ugle. But… just out of curiosity, what do you think? Do you think they love us because they choose to? Do we really have a choice in that?"

At this, Ugle turned, his smile fading, his face drawn and thoughtful. "If love depends on our free will, why don't those who wish to stop loving simply stop?" he asked, his voice quiet yet piercing. "On the contrary, they suffer and are slaves to it. Even the proudest souls, those who would curse the very idea of servitude, find themselves bound by love. For the sake of love, they give up things they swore they'd keep. They wear their love like an illness, a shackle, fearing only the loss of the one they love."

The words settled like a heavy weight between them. Mikkel stopped walking, struck by the depth of Ugle's words, as if they had peeled back the surface of his own thoughts. The question hung over him, a silent challenge to the beliefs he held about the people he cared for. Was their love bound to choice, or was it simply a burden each person bore—like an invisible wound?

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold air passed over him. He glanced back at the group, each face familiar, each person bound to him by loyalty, respect, and shared hardship. But in that moment, they felt distant, as though he could see them only through a veil of uncertainty. For an instant, he felt a deep loneliness, the kind that creeps in when one realizes that even love, even family, may be nothing more than fragile ties held together by circumstance.

Mikkel's voice wavered as he looked at Ugle, a question slipping from him before he could hold it back. "You love me, don't you, Ugle?"

Ugle held his gaze, the usual faint smile gone, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. "I do, Mikkel," he replied, his voice firm but gentle. "Don't ever question that."

Mikkel's unease lingered, Ugle's words stirring questions he would rather have kept buried. The stillness of the forest, the fog, and the shadowed path were harrowing enough without the weight of these unexpected thoughts. He shook his head, as if he could clear the air around him of Ugle's philosophical musings.

"Can we just walk in silence, please?" Mikkel asked, his voice low. Ugle gave a quiet nod of understanding, his expression softening as they continued down the narrow trail.

Hours passed as they pressed through the fog-laden forest, its oppressive silence wrapping around them like a shroud. By the time evening fell, they were near exhaustion, ready to give up and set up another camp. But just as they prepared to veer off the path, Mikkel spotted movement at the forest's edge—a small cat-fox with its signature three bushy tails darting between the trees. Mikkel exhaled, feeling an unexpected sense of relief. The tiny creature's appearance seemed like a signal, a break in the veil of the eerie forest's silence.

As the group stepped beyond the forest, the air shifted, the oppressive stillness lifting. The fog thinned, revealing the vast cliff before them—the Great Summit. The towering wall of rock marked the end of the forest and the beginning of the rugged mountains, their jagged peaks cutting into the sky like silent guardians. The wilderness felt subtly more alive here, its silence natural rather than oppressive.

Mikkel moved to the cliff's edge, gazing out across the seemingly endless range of mountains stretching far into the horizon. Somewhere beyond those peaks lay civilization, a promise of safety and a new life. His thoughts were interrupted as Bjorn and Anna approached the edge beside him, their expressions a mixture of awe and caution.

"These mountains," Bjorn said, his voice low, "they'll try to kill us."

Mikkel nodded, his gaze fixed on the daunting expanse before them. "They're as savage as anything we've faced so far. If we're not careful, we'll be at their mercy."

The rest of the group gathered near the cliff, each person looking down with a mixture of wonder and fear. Olaf was the first to voice what many were thinking. "But how… how do we get down?" he asked, turning to Bjorn with a furrowed brow.

Bjorn merely grinned, his confidence cutting through the group's apprehension. Without warning, he walked right up to the cliff's edge, edging so close that Anna reached out, fear flashing across her face as she called out for him to stop.

But Bjorn ignored her, and with a daring grin, he took a step off the ledge.

The group gasped, their shock spreading like wildfire through their ranks. But Bjorn didn't fall. He remained firmly planted, his body upright, his feet gripping the sheer cliff face at an impossible angle. He stood, seemingly vertical on the wall, looking back at the group with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

Bjorn chuckled at their expressions, the incredulous silence lingering as he turned to address them. "This cliff has been our main ambush spot for years. It's an area where gravity doesn't work like it should," he explained, his voice echoing softly against the stone. "In places like this, gravity can pull you in any direction—down, sideways, even up. We call it a gravitational irregularity."

He looked around at the rest of the group, his expression turning serious. "The thing is, I don't know how far this irregularity extends. That means we'll have to be extremely cautious from here on."

As the group moved cautiously toward the cliff's edge, each member hesitated, feeling the disorienting pull as they stepped over into the strange gravitational anomaly. Following Bjorn, one by one, their perception shifted, and reality itself seemed to twist around them.

What had once been below was now stretched out before them, an endless expanse of what felt like solid ground. And above, the once-distant mountains loomed impossibly overhead, covering the sky like an endless ceiling of jagged peaks. Their immensity defied logic, their silent, towering presence both beautiful and hauntingly unnatural. A profound fear, deep and ancient, settled over the group as they took in the landscape—an almost primeval terror at the sight of these inverted mountains hanging over them like the vault of some strange and hostile world.

They looked back the way they had come, and there was only the edge of the cliff stretching into a sky they could no longer call familiar. It felt like they were standing on the underside of the world, cut off from everything they had ever known. There was something about the sight that was both exhilarating and terrifying, as though they had entered a space untouched by any mortal gaze.

Ahead of them lay a path obscured by clouds, the dense fog rolling in thick and impenetrable. There was no visible ground beneath—only the endless, swirling mist that concealed what lay below, heightening their sense of isolation. They couldn't see the end of the journey nor the terrain that awaited them.