High in the Andes, the air thinned and the world grew wider. Jagged peaks pierced the sky like ancient gods, while clouds drifted lazily below my feet. Each step on the narrow trail echoed with silence and wind, broken only by the distant cry of a condor. The earth smelled of stone and sky, raw and eternal. In that altitude, time unraveled—I was no longer just passing through the mountains; I was part of them, etched into their quiet majesty like a forgotten whisper.