Kathmandu, Nepal

The scent of steaming lentil soup and freshly baked flatbread filled the small hut as Tenzing and Pasang sat cross-legged on the rough wooden floor. Their home was nothing more than a cramped space of stone and mud, barely shielding them from the cold winds that swept through the village. There was no bed, no proper furniture—only a few worn blankets in the corner and a small clay stove flickering with a weak flame.

Both brothers wore their faded construction uniforms, covered in dust and dried sweat from the day's labor. These clothes were the only decent ones they owned, remnants of a life spent building for others while dreaming of something greater for themselves.

Between them sat a framed, faded photograph of an old man with deep lines on his face, a man who had raised them since they were abandoned as infants. His name was Dorje. He had taken them in when no one else would, fed them when they were starving, and told them stories of the great mountain that loomed over their homeland. Sagarmatha, the one the world called Everest.

For the past twenty-six years, Tenzing and Pasang had carried his dream. It was not something they had learned, nor was it forced upon them. It was a desire, deeply embedded within their hearts—their way of honoring the man who had given them a life when they had nothing. 

Pasang tore a piece of bread, dipping it into the warm soup, before looking at his brother. "Do you think he would be proud?" His voice was quiet, thoughtful.

Tenzing glanced at Dorje's picture, the old man's wise eyes seeming to watch over them even now. "He always believed in us, even when no one else did. It's time we prove he was right."

They pressed their hands together and bowed their heads, whispering a silent prayer to the man who had given them everything. Outside, the evening sky darkened, the great mountain standing tall in the distance. It awaited them, just as it had for all these years.

Their greatest journey was about to begin.

---

The next morning, as usual, Tenzing and Pasang headed to their construction site. They picked up the heavy bags of cement, laying them down below the land where houses were being built. Today, the workload seemed heavier than before. Still, there was one bright spot—the promise of a free lunch. The scent of freshly cooked food filled the air, making their stomachs rumble in anticipation.

Tenzing, driven by a sudden craving, took a large sip of water to suppress his hunger. But as he drank, something went wrong. The sip turned into a choke, and suddenly, his head spun. His vision blurred, and before he knew it, he collapsed, the weight of his head slamming against the hard ground.

"Brother!" Pasang's voice was frantic as he rushed to his side. Other workers gathered around, murmuring in concern. Someone ran to get help while Pasang cradled Tenzing's head, his calloused hands trembling. 

Moments later, an old truck pulled up, and Tenzing was hoisted onto the back, Pasang never leaving his side. The ride to the hospital felt like an eternity. Every bump in the road jolted Tenzing's unconscious form, and Pasang found himself whispering prayers, his heart pounding against his ribs. 

At the hospital, nurses rushed him inside while Pasang trailed behind, his hands clenched into fists. He paced in the waiting area, his throat dry, his mind racing with fear. Minutes stretched into hours before a doctor emerged, an older man with tired eyes and a heavy heart. He removed his glasses with a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose before looking at Pasang. 

The hesitation in the doctor's posture made Pasang's stomach tighten. "Is he going to be alright?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor exhaled sharply. "We ran some tests… and he has not suffered any serious damage to his brain But....

"Is there something else.." a small feeling of dread in payang's voice.

"I'm afraid we found something serious."

Pasang's breath hitched. "What do you mean?"

The doctor took a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "Your brother has tumour and. It's already spread significantly."

Pasang felt as if the world had come crashing down around him. His knees buckled, and he had to steady himself against the wall. "There must be something—some treatment—"

The doctor removed his glasses, pressing his fingers to his temple, his own discomfort evident. "At this stage… treatment can only slow the spread, but it won't stop it. I'm so sorry."

Pasang's mind went blank. A deafening silence filled his ears, drowning out the sounds of the hospital. How could this happen? Tenzing had been fine—he had been *fine*! They had plans. They were supposed to climb Sagarmatha together, to stand at the top of the world and look down at everything they had fought for. 

With heavy steps, he made his way to Tenzing's room. His brother lay in the hospital bed, his face pale, his body weak. But when he saw Pasang, he gave a small, tired smile. 

"They told you, didn't they?" Tenzing's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Pasang swallowed the lump in his throat. "We'll figure something out. There has to be a way."

Tenzing let out a soft chuckle, though it ended in a weak cough. "Brother, we always knew life wasn't fair to us. But we made it this far, didn't we?" His eyes gleamed with something Pasang couldn't quite place—acceptance.

Pasang shook his head. "Don't say that. We still have time. We can—"

"No." Tenzing reached out, grasping his brother's hand. "We climb. No matter what, we climb."

Pasang stared at him, his throat tightening. He wanted to argue, to scream that it wasn't fair, that they deserved more time. But looking into Tenzing's eyes, he saw the same fire that had carried them through their lives. Even now, when death loomed over him, his brother still had the heart of a fighter.

Pasang nodded, squeezing his brother's hand. "Then we climb."

And with those words, their greatest adventure truly began.