Marcus continued his ascent, his steps slow at first, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was doing.
"A mountain? Why the mountain?"
The question lingered in his mind as he stepped over the gravel, navigating the narrow paths leading upward.
The air grew fresher with each step, and the distant sounds of the city faded gradually, as though he were leaving the world behind.
But he didn't feel peaceful. No, it was more like a strange, tight confusion—a confusion that had direction… even if it was unclear for now.
"Why am I going? What do I think I'll find?"
He didn't know. But something urged him forward—perhaps the voice of the child, or those little words that carried something he couldn't explain.
He thought to himself:
"What if I find someone waiting for me? What if there's a teacher? Or a test?"
Then he smiled cynically:
"Or maybe nothing but wind, and I'll turn back like a fool."
But something inside him told him he wouldn't return empty-handed. Perhaps it wasn't hope… but a rooted curiosity.
He kept climbing, until the trees began to bend slightly under the weight of the wind. Then, at one narrow corner, he saw it—a small cottage.
A simple cottage, its roof slanted, and its colors faded, as if time itself had mixed with the dust.
He approached cautiously. There was no door, only a dark opening that seemed to beckon him inside.
He hesitated for a moment, then pushed himself through the opening.
What he saw first… were cats.
Fat cats. Many of them. Sitting on wooden chairs with an air of aloofness, as if they were accustomed to receiving visitors.
One yawned, another groomed itself, and a third looked at him with one half-closed eye, as if asking,
"What are you doing here?"
Marcus looked around. The place was cramped, but strangely organized. A faint scent of dried herbs lingered in the air, and delicate curtains covered the corners of the room.
He whispered to himself:
"What is this nonsense?"
But his heart… didn't move away.