CHAPTER 25

Solar Peak

During one of those moonlit nights in the Enchanted Hills, the fire crackled softly as someone spoke of Solar Peak. The man’s eyes gleamed in the firelight as he recounted the thrill of conquering the summit, the way the mountain tested his every limit, and how, despite being a beginner, he had triumphed. His words hung in the air, kindling a spark in Cliff’s chest, an unspoken challenge that tugged at him long after the conversation ended.

Back home, Cliff’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating for a moment before he searched the adventure company’s website. His eyes scanned the description: "Solar Peak - 3,028m. A true adventure for beginners. Two days of hiking, two nights under the stars." The word “beginners” practically winked at him, like the mountain itself was saying, "Come on, Cliff. It’s not Everest—what’s the worst that could happen?" And just like that, something inside him settled—this was a challenge he could face.

Soon, Cliff found himself in outdoor gear shops, overwhelmed by the rows of backpacks, sleeping bags, and hiking boots. Each purchase felt like a small victory, as if the universe was patting him on the back, saying, "Good job, buddy. You’re really doing this." The swish of Alpine’s voice over the phone guided him through the maze of choices, turning the daunting task into an adventure in itself. When the last item was stashed in his trunk, Cliff felt ready—empowered by his new gear and the support of a friend who believed in him.

Arriving at the first base camp, the smell of earth filled his lungs. The crisp air buzzed with the energy of the group, which was larger than he had expected. Conversations ebbed and flowed around the campfire as the guide posed the simple yet loaded question, "What’s your story?" The flames flickered, casting long shadows that danced on the tents, creating a dark sanctuary where Cliff could hide his thoughts. He offered a few words—mentioning the twenty-year battle with his wife’s illness and the path of recovery that led him to these mountains. As he spoke, his voice wavered, and he quickly fell silent. The firelight obscured the moisture gathering in his eyes, and for that, he was grateful.

The night pressed in, dense and foreboding, but exhaustion cradled him into a surprisingly deep sleep in his small tent. Dawn came quickly, painting the sky with strokes of pink and gold. Cliff brewed his morning matcha, the steam curling around his face as he sipped it, feeling the warmth spread through him. He decided to skip breakfast, sticking to his low-carb, intermittent fasting routine, a decision he would later regret. "Skipping breakfast, Cliff? Really? Who do you think you are, a Zen monk?" he muttered to himself as he laced up his boots.

The hike began smoothly enough, the first few kilometers slipping by underfoot as conversation and laughter filled the air. But as the sun climbed higher, so did the temperature. Cliff’s quads and calves burned with each step, the weight of his backpack pulling at his shoulders. His usual running routine had done little to prepare him for this relentless ascent. The trail, once a gentle incline, became a treacherous climb over sharp boulders that scraped his legs and tested his balance. "Who put these rocks here?" he grumbled, as if someone had deliberately scattered them to make his life harder.

By the time they reached the second base camp, fatigue had settled into Cliff’s bones. But the guide’s words cut through his thoughts like a knife: "We need to keep moving to the summit and back before dark. It’s getting late." Cliff’s spirit faltered, the last shreds of his enthusiasm evaporating in the heat. They left their heavy packs behind and set out with only their daypacks, but even that felt like too much. The group split gradually, the fast horses forging ahead while the slow horses lagged behind. Cliff found himself in the no-man’s land between the two groups, his ego battling his body’s growing fatigue.

The sun beat down mercilessly, and Cliff’s head spun. The water in his daypack dwindled to nothing, and his pace slowed. The fast horses disappeared from view, their laughter and chatter fading into the distance, while the slow horses were nowhere to be seen. Cliff was alone—alone on a mountain that had transformed from a challenge into an adversary. The fear crept in quietly at first, whispering doubts that grew louder with each passing minute. What if he was on the wrong path? What if he got lost? What if he ran out of water and collapsed?

He stumbled upon a large rock shaded by a solitary tree and sank onto it, his thoughts swirling in confusion. His breath was steady, but his mind was anything but—caught in a whirlwind of doubt and indecision. The shade offered little comfort, his thoughts spiraling into worst-case scenarios. "A local doctor loses his life tragically while attempting to climb Solar Peak, leaving behind three daughters and a sick wife." The imagined headline played on repeat in his mind, each word a blow to his resolve.

Time lost all meaning as he sat there, paralyzed by indecision. Should he press on, uncertain of the path ahead, or retreat, admitting defeat? The thought of moving forward filled him with dread, but staying felt like surrender. He reached for his watch, only to find it dead. His phone, too, was useless—no signal, no lifeline to the world he had left behind. The mountain seemed to mock him, its silence a reminder of his isolation.

Then, a figure emerged from the haze—Savior, the engineer, appearing as if out of nowhere. His voice broke the spell of Cliff’s fear. “Hey doc, what are you doing here?” he asked, his tone laced with concern.

Cliff looked up, dazed. "I don’t know what I’m doing here!” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

Savior’s face softened. "The summit’s close, maybe twenty minutes. Come on, we can still make it before dark.”

The words breathed life back into Cliff’s limbs. The fog of doubt lifted, and suddenly, the path seemed clear again. As they hiked together, Savior shared that he had stayed behind to help an injured friend, only to find himself alone when the group turned back. He had a mission, he said, to reach the summit. His presence was a balm to Cliff’s weary soul, the conversation flowing easily as they ascended.

The summit was not twenty minutes away—it took over an hour to reach it. But with each step, Cliff felt stronger, the weight of the earlier despair falling away. His body, it turned out, was capable—it had been his mind that had faltered under that tree. When they finally crested the peak, the fast horses were already descending, but the guide waited, her face splitting into a grin as she congratulated them. She snapped a few photos, capturing the moment Cliff had almost convinced himself would never come. "Next time, maybe I’ll skip the heroic ‘no breakfast’ routine," he thought, a rueful smile tugging at his lips.

That night, as he lay in his sleeping bag, exhaustion and relief mingled in his veins. He had reached the summit, but the victory felt hollow, tainted by the memory of his near surrender. The lesson was bitter—he had been on the right path all along, yet his mind had betrayed him.

Life, he realized, would always find a way to bring you to your knees. But you couldn’t stay there. No matter how inviting the shade, no matter how strong the temptation to quit, you had to rise, dust yourself off, and keep climbing. Not because you were invincible, but because there was no other choice. Giving up wasn’t an option—you simply had to go on.

As they packed up the next day, Pinnacle, a lawyer from the group who couldn’t make it, approached him, determination burning in her eyes. "This isn’t the end," she declared. "I’m coming back to reach that summit." Cliff nodded, but her words felt like a taunt. The one who hadn’t reached the top was filled with resolve, while he, who had stood on the summit, felt only defeat.

"Maybe try the Enchanted Hills," he suggested. "They’re easier and more beautiful." But she shook her head, her gaze unwavering.

"They’re not challenging enough. I’ve done Celestial Heights, and now I failed this? I have to come back, or I’ll lose my self-respect."

Cliff turned to Savior. "Have you done any other summits?" he asked.

"Yeah," Savior replied. "I just did Vertigo Summit. It wasn’t as tough as this." Cliff’s interest flickered, but the sense of defeat lingered.

"This might be my last mountain," he thought, though the pull of the peaks still tugged at something deep within him.