"Frozen in Time, Forgotten by the World"

A biting wind howled through the Karakoram Range, carrying a stinging chill that cut through even the thickest of layers. The sky was a deep, endless blue, untainted by pollution, stretching far beyond the towering, snow-clad peaks.

Viktor Morozov tightened his gloves, exhaling a cloud of mist as he surveyed the colossal silhouette of K2 before him. The mountain stood like a god, unmoving, indifferent to those who dared challenge its slopes.

"So this is it…"

At 23 years old, Viktor had already climbed 58 mountains, conquering some of the most treacherous peaks in the world. But K2 was different. Unlike Everest, which had become a commercialized climb, this was a place where death was the only certainty.

He had read the statistics—one in four climbers never return. It wasn’t just about skill; it was about luck, timing, and the sheer brutality of nature.

Yet, despite the looming specter of death, he felt strangely… calm.

A firm pat on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts.

“Nervous, comrade?”

Viktor turned to see Siddharth Shandilya, the Indian mountaineer who had climbed with him before. His face was partially hidden behind his oxygen mask, but his dark eyes carried an easy confidence.

Viktor exhaled through his nose. “A little. But I’d be more worried if I wasn’t.”

Siddharth chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”

The rest of the team was making their final checks. Kenji Takahashi adjusted his crampons, Thomas Becker double-checked the ropes, and Luca Moretti muttered something under his breath—probably a prayer.

At exactly 5:30 AM, the five of them set off, their boots crunching into the ice as they stepped into the domain of the dead.

Viktor’s breath was ragged, each inhale feeling like shards of glass in his throat. The air was painfully thin. Even with oxygen tanks, every movement felt sluggish, like wading through heavy water.

Then, he saw them.

Scattered across the ice—bodies.

They were preserved unnaturally well, their expressions frozen in time. Some were still clutching their ropes, others curled into themselves as if trying to fight the inevitable. Their brightly colored suits stood in stark contrast to the white expanse around them, a grim reminder of those who had failed before them.

A shiver ran down Viktor’s spine, and for the first time since the climb began, a seed of doubt lodged itself in his mind.

"Is this going to be me?"

Siddharth must have noticed his hesitation because he nudged Viktor’s arm.

“Don’t think too much. If you freeze up now, it’s over.”

Viktor nodded, swallowing his fear.

They tightened their grips on their axes and pressed forward.

At 8,611 meters, they reached the final stretch—the Summit Peak.

It was a near-vertical incline, a sheer 70° wall of ice. One mistake here, and a fall would send them plunging thousands of meters to certain death.

Viktor’s heart pounded as he drove his axe into the ice, pulling himself up inch by inch. The howling wind screamed in his ears, drowning out his own thoughts.

Then—

The mountain rumbled.

It was a sound that no climber ever wanted to hear.

Kenji looked up first. His eyes went wide.

“AVALANCHE!”

A thunderous wall of ice came crashing down.

Viktor barely had time to react. The sheer force ripped his axe from his hand, sending him into freefall.

Pain.

Something slammed into his ribs—maybe a rock, maybe debris, he couldn’t tell.

His vision blurred as his body tumbled endlessly down the frozen abyss.

A sharp, unbearable agony erupted in his **left arm—**no, it was shattered.

Then he felt something worse.

His **left leg—**it wasn’t there.

A crimson trail stained the ice beneath him. His body was failing, shutting down piece by piece.

Viktor’s breaths became shallow, each one weaker than the last.

"No… not yet…"

His thoughts drifted—to his mother, alone in their tiny apartment in Saint Petersburg.

"Who will take care of her… if I die here?"

His fingers twitched, desperate to move, to fight—

Darkness swallowed him whole.

A gust of warm wind swept across Viktor’s face.

Warm.

That wasn’t right.

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a sky that was not the sky he remembered.

Gone was the deep blue of the Karakoram. Instead, a violet haze stretched across the horizon, streaked with colors he didn’t recognize.

Viktor sat up abruptly, his breath catching in his throat.

He was completely naked, yet the cold didn’t bite at his skin. The ice beneath him was smooth, unnatural, untouched by time.

His heart pounded as he looked down at himself.

His leg was there. His arm was whole.

There wasn’t even a scar.

"What… the hell…?"

He stumbled to his feet, turning toward the horizon, expecting to see his team, his camp, any sign of human life.

But there was nothing.

The town that once stood at the base of K2 was in ruins. Collapsed buildings, cracked roads, rusted streetlights.

The world he knew was gone.

And then—he heard something.

A faint, wet shuffling sound from inside a nearby building.

Viktor’s blood turned to ice.

Slowly, cautiously, he stepped forward, his bare feet making no sound on the frozen ground.

Inside the shattered remains of a town hall, two creatures stood facing a window.

Their bodies were humanoid, but wrong.

Sleek, scaled skin.
Large, abyss-black eyes.
Mouths moving, but making no sound.

Then—they turned to face him.

Viktor’s breath hitched.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then, the creatures opened their mouths.

A deep, guttural sound filled the air—something that no human should ever hear.

And for the first time since waking up, a single thought seared itself into Viktor’s mind.

“I am alone.”

To be continued…