They are huge.
They are exactly too huge. Too ancient. They wait at the edge of the city the same way the sun hangs in the sky. You could pray to a mountain all day. You could piss on it. You could carve your biography on its face, fill the etchings with molten iron, and end your life with a curse on the mountain’s mineral bones.
It would not matter.
You cannot solve a mountain. You cannot even articulate a mountain as a problem.
You can climb it, crawl around it, or pulverize it with bombs. But you cannot defeat it.