The wind had become chilly.
Dust swirled up as the last rays of the day's sunlight spread over the hills. Nidal settled down between two moss-covered rocks, took a deep breath and put his bag down next to him.
His legs were aching.
Carefully, he pulled the folded map out of his pouch. The parchment crackled softly and the pages of the map were already slightly torn.
His gaze slid over the drawn lines, over blurred place names and waymarks that the previous owner had probably drawn in.
With his finger, he followed a narrow path that he thought he had already walked. It meandered through forests and plains before turning west - to where the mountains began.
There were gray shaded drawings on the edge of the map - they marked the mountains of this land.
"So that's where it is. . ."
He rolled up the map, put it back and straightened up. The sun bathed the sky in a golden glow, while the silhouettes of the mountains could already be seen in the west - they seemed close enough to touch.
"Keep going . . . it has to be."
The sun had almost disappeared above him.
He was still thinking about Eria.
He worried about her - whether she had arrived safely in the south and could finally live in peace with her uncle.
He also had to think about that - about the moment when she kissed his cheek. Heat rose to his face and the thought of it made him uncomfortable.
He sighed.
The further west the path led, the narrower and more uneven it became. At first, soft grass lined its edge, but gradually the ground gave way to dry earth and cracked stone.
The forest that had accompanied him before was long behind him. Only a few trees could still be seen around him and the landscape itself was becoming increasingly rough and stony.
The birds also fell silent.
They probably had no home in this stony landscape.
He only found water sparingly - a spring seeping out of the rock, cool and metallic tasting. He drank hastily, filled his tube, then walked on.
The path now wound between hills, he climbed over stony heights where the grass thinned under his feet and was lost between rocks.
The shadow of the mountains grew with every step.
The air was different here - cooler, harsher. It smelled of stone and moss and was filled with an eerie silence.
At the foot of the mountains, where the path became lost, Nidal paused briefly.
He had not yet reached his destination, but he could feel it: his goal was near. Somewhere up there, hidden in the rocks, was what he was looking for. He pulled his coat tighter around him, took one last look at the land behind him - and then turned towards the mountains.
The first step up the steep slope felt like crossing over into another world. The ground was damp and covered in moss, and with every step, small stones came loose and rolled down into the valley with a clatter.
"Really ... every step could be the death of me," he whispered, looking down into the valley.
A thick fog slowly settled around him. It had a heavy effect on him. The silence became unbearable at times. The fog shrouded everything, swallowed up the path, the view, the sense of time.
"Damn. . ."
Uncertainty overcame him. It felt to him as if he had nothing left. Endless emptiness, shrouded in white.
But then he felt it again. That familiar tugging in his chest, that silent call that had been with him for a long time.
He briefly sank to his knees.
"Not now . . ."
He straightened up again and let his gaze wander around. But there was still nothing to be seen - just endless white.
He walked on, feeling his way forward step by step, until he suddenly stopped.
Something had changed.
It was as if he suddenly knew where he had to go. His thoughts became clearer. He turned to the side - and resolutely continued on his way. For a while, he just walked straight ahead, without any doubt in his heart.
"Just a little more . . ."
Then, he saw something in front of him.
Something was sticking out of the fog. An outline. Then another. As the veil slowly lifted, he recognized them - old pillars, moss-covered, weathered, but still towering proudly. Two rows, on either side of a stone staircase that wound its way up the slope.
He put his hand on one of the pillars.
The stone was cold, rough and covered in ancient runes that were barely recognizable. But they looked familiar. Not in his mind - but somewhere deeper, in his innermost being.
He climbed up.
The path was narrow, partly caved in, but it led inexorably upwards. The fog continued to lift, and then he saw it: a huge gate, half collapsed, entwined with vines. Huge stones lay strewn about, as if it had once been shaken by a quake. But even in its decay, it radiated an awe-inspiring power.
A statue rose above the gate - a woman whose head had been cut off. He looked around quickly, but found no clue as to where he was or to whom this ornate but mutilated monument once belonged.
Nidal stepped through the broken gate. And what opened up before him took his breath away.
A city built into the mountains, where it seemed as if a thousand pillars were rising up to infinity. They reached the ceiling of hell in which the city was embedded. Crystals on the ceiling sparkled, giving the impression that there was always a starry sky above the city
They were everywhere. Growing out of the rock like ancient trees, they supported terraces, bridges and platforms, connected paths and halls, and supported buildings carved out of the mountain itself. Each pillar was different: some plain, others covered in intricate patterns, carved by hands that had long since crumbled to dust.
The fog lifted.
In front of him was an old bridge that led directly to the town. It was lined with old flags, the pattern of which was barely recognizable.
On closer inspection, the pillars on the bridge looked different from those in front of the gate. At their tops were enthroned stone figures of people. They held one hand to their chest, the other stretched up into the air as if pleading with someone.
A statue rose up in front of him, its arms outstretched as if it wanted to achieve something. On closer inspection, he noticed that its head had disappeared. The stone body was littered with impacts, as if someone had tried to break it with sword blows.
"'O... you one. Have mercy on our hearts and lead us once more into your radiant light,'" he whispered.
These words were engraved on a plaque placed beneath the statue.
He took a quick look down from the bridge, where a huge gorge opened up. The ground remained hidden, engulfed by an impenetrable mist. The wind swept through the ravines, as well as between the pillars, making a strange sound.
Nidal walked slowly.
His footsteps echoed between the pillars, but were then lost in the distance.
He could see no streets, only staircases that spiraled upwards, bridges that seemed to lead to nowhere, and halls without doors, bordered only by pillars – as if the walls had never been necessary.
"I'm here. . ." he said in a firm voice.