A particularly heavy thump rouses you from your slumber. A large mass zips past outside as you unstick your forehead from the window. Your lips are dry and your nose stings as it takes in the sterile air.

Another large mass. The deafening drone of the Kodiak’s single propeller engine comes back to you and your legs begin to ache for a good stretch.

Another bump.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes. Outside, mountains zip past, far closer than you’d expect. As your memories return you grasp on to the fact that your plane is now flying through a deep valley – to your left and right, mountains rise far above your current altitude, dwarfing you and obscuring any visible horizons behind a fast moving wall of rock. Beneath you, a river snakes through the valley, tracing the path of your vehicle as you hurtle onward.

Another small lurch.

Your vessel is a floatplane: a Quest Kodiak. One of the two pilot seats in the front are occupied, and only one of the four passengers in the back – it’s a very small aircraft, yet in the confines of the valley it feels just a touch too big.

“Are you’re up? You almost missed the best part of the trip!”

A burst of static squeals into your ear, slightly too loud and too close, and a pressure on the side of your face reminds you of the headset clamped around your head. The voice returns with a crackle.

“I’m gonna go ahead and switch to ground control. If you’re talking I’m not going to be able to hear you. Just sit tight and enjoy the ride. We’ll be there just about. Victor Zulu Niner we-”

The communique cuts off with a static crescendo as the channels are switched. Another large mass.

Preparing to land, you begin to pack down your belongings. Pausing for a moment, you study the Research Brief one last time before stowing it away.

Satisfied, you push your backpack under your seat and turn your attention outside the window.

The seaplane’s wings stretch a little too close to the rocky cliffs that surround you but the sight is fantastic and unbelievable. The brown-gray blur of mountain walls rush by outside the window, instead of the usual clouds and blue sky.

You gradually lose altitude as the valley opens out. Pulling away from the rocky walls, you see now the smattering of green across the rocky mountain faces. A generous white frosting of ice and snow cap off the mountains and the scale of the landscape serves as a constant reminder of your relative smallness.

The valley creates a corridor that stretches as far as the eye can see, but your attention is directed to a gap in the wall to the right ahead of you – or rather, the implication of a gap.

A heavy mist pours out of an unseen opening in the mountain wall, spilling out into the unnaturally blue river below. As you begin to consider it, the plane’s wing dips and you are treated to a window-full of river.

Your hands clench around the armrest as the pilot finishes the maneuver. Straining a little, you can see out the front that you are now hurtling directly toward the wall of mist. The pilot gestures something you don’t understand and you decide it best to tighten your seatbelt just a couple of notches more.

To your left and right, you get a clear view down the fjords that surround you, and for a brief moment, it’s a wonderful, beautiful sight.

Then all at once, it is engulfed in mist.