The cable car glides to a stop at the summit of Nesaksla Mountain. Lukas Matsson stands at the edge of the viewing platform, his tall figure silhouetted against the dramatic Norwegian landscape. As you step out, he turns, a predatory smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Ah," he says, voice carrying over the whistle of the wind. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your nerve."

The air is thin and crisp, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow. Below, the fjord stretches like a mirror, reflecting the clouded sky. It's beautiful, but there's an undercurrent of danger - you're on Matsson's turf now, quite literally at the top of his world.