In the blink of an eye days can turn to weeks, can turn to months. I lose track of all but the seasons while White teaches me to survive in the wilderness.

Flowers wilt and summer’s heat spreads through the plains, the creeks widen as the heat melts the snow on the mountains above. The insects have been multiplying, and to protect myself from them, I try to make a proper door to my shelter.

White nips at my side as I try to force the dense trunk of a tree up against the split in the hill that functions as my home. I relent, leaving the task for later so that I can get back to training.

Ever since that night when I almost died, White has been with me. I don’t know why he’s protecting me, and helping me, but I can’t ask him about it. He insists on teaching me healing magic, day in and day out, while showing me what to eat and what to avoid.

He nips my hand, and I focus again.

His fangs, sharp as knives, leave behind a small cut that stings and bleeds. I focus inside and direct my æther to the wound, trying to shape it and direct it properly. This is far from the first day of practice, but I still haven’t figured anything out.

Through the long days, fighting off the heat and eating whatever I can get my hands on. I train and I learn. White watches over me the whole time, protecting me when more cats come down from the mountains to hunt.

I finally get my door finished properly, and my little cave sealed up by the time the first leaves fall, but the cold of winter blows fast in autumn’s wake.

As the first snow falls, I finally learn how to cast healing magic. Alone this isn’t much of a difference, but I’ve been training my æther veins this whole time, stretching them and growing them.

I’ve grown much more powerful from all my failed attempts at healing, and all the time I spend strengthening my flesh. I can feel my body move faster when I strengthen my muscles, and the bugs that I eat can’t bite into my fingers anymore when I grab them.

At White’s insistence, I spend my time chasing food, eating until I feel sick and then squeezing in more. Still, we cannot wish away winter, and one morning it becomes impossible to ignore.

The snow is so thick that I can’t walk through it without sinking to my knees. Pushing myself and wading through it saps at my strengthened legs and freezes me to the bone. When the storms roll in there’s nothing more we can do but hide and hope for them to pass.

Curled up in my shelter, with White sitting by the door, which is ceaselessly whistling in the frostbitten wind, I cradle my newest discovery. My newest disappointment.

A longsword.

Cold and inedible.

The snow has made all the bugs disappear, and buried the edible grasses. The rabbits and foxes that White would sometimes hunt, are much harder to find now than they were before. Even eating all that I could find before winter came, won’t keep me from starving now.

I don’t want to die.

The edge of my sword is chipped and rusted, though it still seems that it might hold together a little while longer. I hold onto it; not with hope, but with fear that worse is still to come. If it wasn’t for White, I know I’d be dead already.

A cold wind blows through the gaps about the door to my small sanctuary. It feels strangely warm, even though I know it must be cold.

The feeling scares me.

I hold out my hand summoning the tiniest flame, the smallest warmth that is enough only to warm the fingertip upon which it alights. I clutch at the sword in my other hand, as if to fight back the warmth of an inviting frost.

I’ve fought monsters that should only exist in bedtime stories. I’ve eaten all sorts of terrible things, from bugs to animal guts. I’ve struggled to sleep as insects crawl all over me. I’ve survived all of that, but not so that I can die here in the cold. Killed by nothing more than winter’s arrival.

I pour my determination into the flame of my hand; forcing the æther stream to widen, encompassing multiple veins and building the flames up to radiate more heat.

“I will not die here,” I whisper with all my strength.

“Syr will not die here,” I whisper my own name, hearing it for the first time in… I can’t remember how long.

As if the gods hear me, a roar sounds from outside, not like that of the howling winds, but instead a cry far more mundane. It shouts out in rage and despair, sounding to me almost as my own voiceless cry. White responds before I can, pushing down the door to our small haven, and racing out into the world of snow beyond.

I move a moment later, taking up my sword with one enhanced hand and rushing outside.

The tearing winds for the first time in a long, long while are not filled with blinding snow, and though it still bites where it touches, I can now see clearly out across the white plain. Standing distinct from this white field is the tall figure of a bear. Its coarse fur a natural, crimson-streaked brown is stained a deeper crimson now.

From the distance, I can still see the bear’s pride, as it defiantly roars at the forest’s edge and scatters blood across the virgin snow. Wolven howls fill the air as if to drown out the terrific sound of the bear.

White joins with his pack, giving me a brief glance before pattering away. He howls, and I shout too, my voice broken and raw, more akin to those of the undead wolven that step out from the cover of the trees.

I turn my attention back to the bear.

I’ve stumbled across others of its kind before, they tend to use their æther to enhance their already tremendous strength, allowing their massive weight to tear down even full-grown trees. When truly raging, there is not much that one can do to stand against them, even the wolven like White leave them alone.

Perhaps, today their pack is as desperate as I am.

The beast of a bear is pouring blood from its shoulder, likely awoken by the hungering wolven. Trailing blood from the wound, it rages about the clearing, tearing up the snow and eventually locking eyes with me.

I shiver.

Its fur looks awfully warm, and my limbs are terribly numb.

Its body looks wonderfully fleshy, and my stomach growls in craving.

The wolven howl, breaking the moment as they cautiously leave the trees of the forest. Our eyes meet and I forget all the fear I had of them, especially when I see White with them.

I will hunt, too. It’s what I try to say, but I don’t know if they understand it.

White barks out something towards his pack leader, and they quickly exchange an inhuman conversation.

The leader, standing noble over the snow stares back toward me, before resting himself down on the snow. He briefly barks at the others who halt at the sound. They do not retreat, rather they circle around the bear, passing me by with but a small glance as they wait for me to make my move.

White and the leader both look at me, then turn to the bear.

This is my hunt.

Lifting the sword at my side, I enhance the æther flow through my body, reinforcing my strength and facing the great bear.

I glare at him, and he glares back, recognising me as his opponent.

A howl from the lead wolven sparks the fight’s beginning. I charge forward, stumbling through the snow while he, for his great weight, charges through with such speed and agility as to outpace me entirely.

We clash; I swing my rusted sword with all my enhanced strength, smashing into the beast’s head from the side. The force of the strike throws me aside, surprising the both of us, as I narrowly escape his closing jaws.

The shock from the strike is enough to break away the numbing cold, but my arms become numb from the shock instead.

My attack, at full force, was not enough to kill him. Barely cutting through his thick fur, blood pours down his face, but that’s all. From the distance gained in the clash, I watch as the wolven dive in, nipping at the great bear’s heels before escaping again.

With a raging scream, I turn to face the bear, using the short opening the wolven give me. I hold the sword high and charge.

The bear, even distracted, moves a moment before me, shaking off the wolven attack and facing me head-on. His movements are slower but surer than before, he lowers his head to the snow and watches me draw close. I pause an instant before I reach him and strike downwards as soon as he is in my reach. The blunted blade misses the bear as he side-steps me, but my momentum is not easily stopped.

Even as the bear snaps out at me, my sword strikes the icy earth beneath the snow and launches me up into the air, out of reach of the bears gnashing teeth and striking claws. Spinning through the sky, I’m only barely able to hold onto the sword as it pulls loose from the earth.

I land in the thick snow, tumbling about and fighting to keep hold of my sword. I sprint away from the bear the moment I can find the ground again.

The wolven step in to strike while the bear is distracted, saving me from its rage. Wounding him deeper than I have so far, but then they retreat out of reach before even the agile bear can catch them. Some of the undead lose patches of fur in the struggle, but there is no wound greater than that.

At a distance, the fight seems almost fair, or for the bear’s injuries, it might seem at a disadvantage to the wolven, but I can see something different.

As I watch, the great bear swipes away an undead wolven, scattering its bones and rotten flesh in a single strike. The others cautiously pull away after that.

The bear embraces such power through magical enhancement, but even as I do the same, my trembling body can barely house a small fraction of the power that is running through that monster. Worse, I can’t hold out for much longer.

My next strike will be my last and it won’t even hit with the same strength as the first two. My æther veins are burning up inside me, and even standing takes strength that won’t last forever.

I glare at the bear before me. At the warm fur taunting me. At the meat that I hunger for.

He glares back.

We charge again at each other, my sword, thrust out before me, wobbles as I lose the strength to properly hold it up. With each thundering step of the beast, mine becomes weaker, slower.

The great bear tears through the snow, and I thrust the blade at the massive figure. So big, it would seem difficult to miss.

Yet…

It slips past me, striking my leg with the sharp claws of its paw and sending me flying upwards with his rock-hard skull. As I lose all sense, I grip tightly to the sword. My numb hand burning with the last of the æther that flows through it, refusing to give up.

I don’t want to die.

My æther veins are already collapsing, and my mind is already slipping. The air in my lungs flows thick as water as white snow turns to black around me, and the howling of wolven grows ever so distant.

I can barely see where my leg is torn to shreds and pointing the wrong way. Still, I grip tightly to my sword, forcing my distant limbs to do as I command and standing with my sword as a crutch.

I can no longer see the bear, only layers of darkness; but I can feel it. I know the bear that’s running at me. I know him too well; he’s just like me.

I don’t want to die!

I am not going to die!

I demand more from my body. I demand more from the æther flowing through me, from the collapsing veins that have since burned out.

I demand to live.

The world cracks open, or perhaps the crack forms within me. Overwhelmingly, colour returns to my senses, strength to my muscles, and burning æther through my body. It overflows from within me, burning so hot that I can feel myself screaming before I can even take in the sight of the world around me, and the bear charging at me.

I suck in so much æther that the pressure of its ceaseless flow holds my burning veins open. I force the inferno into my broken leg, healing it and supporting the parts slow to come back together.

I force the flow into my arms, which no longer tremble as they hold the massive blade in my hands. I force the overflow into every part of my body and mind, drowning in the pains of unconstrained æther burn.

Turning to the bear with this newfound strength, I sprint at him. No longer slowed by the snow, no longer bothered by the cold, no longer struggling with the weight of the sword, I point it forwards at the dead centre into the beast’s chest, and I charge.

No longer is his speed too much for me to match.

No longer can he escape me.

The blade pierces his chest as my momentum catches up to his and continues on, sheathing the blade deep into the beast’s dense flesh.

He does not whine; he does not scream.

As blood flows down over me, his body grows weak and collapses down over me.

Darkness consumes my vision, and my senses fade until even the burning mana slips away into nothingness.

I float in that familiar thick soupy sea of everlasting darkness, but this time it’s different. Smothered, and burning from the inside, I try to scream, but I have no voice. There is nothing here, not even my body is real, but the pain inside still burns.

It burns so hot and for so long that I lose myself in the suffering. I don’t know anything but the pain, and even time slips away.

When the insects start crawling over my skin, into my eyes, and deep down inside, I’m glad for the new terrible sensation, but it does not erase that inferno coursing through me.

I scream, finally, I can hear my own voice and feel my own flesh. I cry and I scream, and I shake from the pain that just won’t go away.

Something warm covers me and I grab it and hug it tight, sinking my teeth into it to try and get through the suffering.

Slowly.

Slowly.

The pain goes away, and I fall into a proper sleep. Here at least, I can still find solace.

The fires are gone, my village is as I remember it, and mom and dad are still with me. The world is as it should be. A beautiful, warm, safe place.

It doesn’t last.

When I awaken, I try to open my eyes, but they almost feel glued shut. My little home is bright, the sunlight shines through the open door, and White stands there, looking at me.

I’m covered in the bear’s fur, torn and shredded in places, but warm. White must have saved me and brought me here away from the cold.

I pull myself out, White wants to say something to me, tapping his foot against the snow. When I get there, he points his nose at a pile of meat that’s been covered in ice in one corner of my shelter, before meeting my eyes and nodding slowly.

He licks my forehead, before turning away and treading through the thick snow.

I want to call out to him, but I can’t find the strength.

He stops where the first trees mark the beginning of the forest, and a pair of undead little pups come out to meet him. White lowers his head to nuzzle them closely, looking back at me only the once before leaving for his home, re-joining his pack.

I shiver in the cold, staring into the forest until the sun is gone. I close the door, cuddle into the bloody fur, and I cry.