The cold is different than normal cold. It's the kind of cold that kills men like sighing, that cleanses without effort - this high up, barely anything can survive. Gangkhar Puensum is truly wild, in ways most of the earth save the deeps of her oceans aren't. Bruce Wayne doesn't believe in holiness, but if he did, this place would be sacred.

In the center of his consciousness there is a ledge (there always is), and this time it's outstretched ice, a bridge that fades into nothingness over a snow-covered valley. It's unreal, nothing that could exist outside a dream, crystal-spun and delicate and casting a perspective that humans would never manage to take in with their own lacking eyes. At the end sits a figure dressed in black and brown, clothing a mixture of timeless tradition and modern bits to save time or comfort.

He doesn't seem to be doing anything.