Morning came quietly.
Mist pooled along the waterline in thin, ghostly strands, thinning as the first light touched it. Dew clung to every blade of grass while insects drifted through the cool air, trailing faint light that shimmered and faded like dying sparks.
When the sun's first beams sliced through the cracks in the cabin wall, Arion groaned awake from his hard-won rest. He stretched, joints popping in protest, then rolled out of bed and set to work. A quick swig from the leather waterskin, followed by light exercise—push-ups, pull-ups on a low branch, squats until his thighs burned.
By the time sweat beaded across his skin, he cooled off with a bracing dip in the nearby spring.
Another round of fish sizzled over the rekindled firepit—his new life reduced to something simple, brutal, and strangely steady.
He was already falling into a routine in this strange world. Oddly enough, it came easier than he would have liked.
A second chance. A blank slate. No deadlines. No superiors. Just him, the wilds, and whatever this place threw at him next.
…
Morning meant more fish from the river and refilling the waterskin. Late morning to afternoon meant practice—pushing the strange force now humming through his veins.
Seems like I've got the hang of basic water transfer—liquid to gas, at least. Now let's try dragging the temperature down. Ice is essential if I want to keep these fish fresh.
He rolled his shoulders once and stepped to the riverbank. Extending a hand over a small patch of water, he felt the energy stir— that faint electric hum of circulation flowing toward his palm.
This time he inverted the process. Instead of feeding heat into the water, he tried to pull it out.
Alright… Visualise the process.
Energy surged from his core to his fingertips, the hum building. The water rippled once—then hissed.
A violent puff of steam erupted upward, nearly scalding his face.
"Cold, you idiot! Not boiled," he muttered, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist.
He rested, shook out his hand, and tried again, narrowing his focus until the world narrowed to only the water's surface. The current responded, rippling outward in uneven waves. For a heartbeat the surface shimmered, tiny crystals flashed like stars—then the reaction collapsed.
The water stilled. A single pathetic droplet of ice clung to his knuckle before melting away.
Steam hissed over his knuckles, sharp as nettles, while the scent of mineral water and scorched skin twisted into the air.
"One crystal… Fantastic." His tone was desert-dry.
He exhaled, shaking the stiffness from his fingers.
There's a delay—too much build-up before anything happens. Maybe the water itself is resisting me?
He leaned closer, studying the ripples as they reformed around his reflection.
It's there… the energy wants to settle, not spike. I'm missing the stabilising step.
With a tired grunt he stood. "Alright. We'll call that… attempt number five."
The river gurgled back at him, unimpressed.
…
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
By mid-afternoon the count had crept into double digits. Arion dragged a hand down his face.
"Attempt number… ten."
Still, he extended his hand.
This time he didn't force it. He let the current's rhythm sync with his breathing, eyes tracking the slow pulse of sunlight through the water.
Steady now. Focus on transfer—don't brute force it. Temperature has to be dragged down steadily, not hit all at once.
Internal energy trickled down his arm, smooth and deliberate, no erratic spikes. The water rippled in answer, tension forming at the boundary layer.
There… that's it.
He continued, slowly twisting his wrist and fingers.
The reaction was immediate.
Surface tension shivered. Molecules slowed as he stripped thermal energy away faster than surrounding water could recover it. Droplets froze mid-motion, crystallising in perfect concentric rings. A thin frost halo spread outward from his palm.
The sound—the minute crackle of forming ice lattices—was strangely satisfying, like glass being born.
He adjusted the flow, tracing the phase change in his head.
"Temperature drop stable… thermal gradient holding…"
The water hardened from liquid to translucent solid while the air misted around it, condensation flashing into fog. A crisp crackle stitched through the quiet as ice raced across the surface.
When it was done, a flawless sheet of clean ice sat where the water had been, its edges still steaming faintly from the violent temperature drop.
Arion grinned, fist bumping the air.
"Experiment successful—finally! Surely that deserves an A+!"
The frozen patch gleamed under the sunlight like a mirror hammered out of winter itself.
He crouched beside it, admiring the precision of the transformation.
"Entropy seems… bypassed?" He muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "Local order imposed way too cleanly… that's not how it should work."
The grin faltered for half a heartbeat.
"…Wait. No. The 'missing' disorder has to go somewhere. This strange energy is too efficient. There's a hidden cost here… I just can't see it yet."
I'll need to understand this better if I want to keep experimenting without blowing myself up.
"Now then, I can't be casting spells without names. Blasphemous!"
He rubbed his chin, squinting in mock concentration.
"You… shall be called…"
A dramatic pause.
"Frost Snap!"
He chuckled to himself, utterly satisfied with both the result and the name.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Satisfied with the name, Arion drilled Frost Snap until the motion started to live in his bones. No room for lag. No hesitation in combat.
I think I'm getting close. It's a fairly simple reaction and transfer—shouldn't take long to master.
"Frost Snap—a flick of the wrist and—"
At that exact moment, a shadow glided across the sun, tore through the air, and slammed into the river like a living missile. A wave surged outward in a miniature tsunami.
"—Snap!"
Arion's magic collided with the sudden flood. With too little energy poured into the spell, the reaction birthed not ice but snow, swallowing him whole like a man who had volunteered to become a snowman.
"Arg!…Damnit! That's it!—"
As soon as he clawed enough snow from his face, his rage evaporated, body locking rigid at what he saw.
There, half-submerged in the river, something large stirred.
Only when it lifted its head did Arion grasp the full shape of it.
A long, narrow head—bronze beak glinting wet and razor-sharp in the light. Scales ran up its neck like living plate armour, each ridge flashing gold as river water poured off in sheets. The body beneath was lean, corded with muscle, half-feathered, half-scaled, steam rolling from its skin where cold river met unnatural heat.
It stood nearly three metres at the shoulder, wings spanning close to ten. Bronze and dripping feathers clung to a frame built for lethal speed, not bulk. The extra length of its neck gave every movement a slow, predatory sway.
Then the wings spread—broad, double-jointed, every feather edged like a blade. Sunlight flashed white-hot along the tips. Muscles and skin breathed vapour as the sun evaporated the water, the air around it shimmering with heat.
In a blink it rose, landing hard on the bank. Talons bit deep into the mud. Amber eyes burned into him.
For a heartbeat it simply watched him, cocking its head—slow, silent—as though deciding whether he was worth the effort.
What the hell—
Ah, yes. Local wildlife. Completely forgot.
Well, it was only a matter of time.
His right foot lifted half an inch off the ground in a slow retreat. The creature saw it as an invitation.
"Ha…, nice chicken?" Hands up—universal sign for please don't eat me.
SCREEEEAA!
The predatory screech split the air, and Arion understood at once what it meant.
It tore forward, wings slicing the wind, moving at impossible speed. Arion snatched his spear, raising it just before collision—then dodged on pure adrenaline, body moving before thought could catch up.
The long, razor-sharp beak speared for his neck.
He was already moving past its flank. He saw his opening and drove the spear home, trying to bury it anywhere vulnerable.
The makeshift weapon shuddered. Fibre split. Wood splintered and snapped against scale and feather.
"Crap!"
Wincing, he dropped, rolled. No time to mourn his broken fishing companion. He rose, turned—and just before he fled—
"Wait, what the hell am I doing?"
He spun on his heel just as the creature adjusted and barrelled toward him again.
"Hey, asshole—" he snarled.
Arion raised his right hand. Internal energy hummed through his arm, reacting with the surrounding currents. Temperature plummeted. Ice crystals formed.
The same spell he had practiced on the river—only this time aimed at something alive.
"Frost Snap!"
The words hit like a trigger. Pure whiteness bloomed in front of him in a heartbeat—dirt, grass, airborne droplets flash-froze.
Timing and range were perfect. The creature, still coated in river water, became a flawless conductor.
The freeze came unnaturally fast. Veins of ice raced upward at terrifying speed, encasing scales and feathers alike.
Crk-crk-crk!
Anything wet was suddenly at the mercy of his temperature transfer. Heat ripped away faster than Earth physics allowed. The air cracked. The creature's exterior froze solid within seconds.
Soundless. Merciless. Absolute.
Before Arion could bask in smug victory, he threw himself sideways as the oversized frozen chicken kept its momentum and barrelled through where he had been standing.
A wet slip. A heavy THUMP.
Arion stood, turned, and stared at the fallen sculpture, already analysing.
"Frost Snap seems ridiculously effective against anything already soaked. But without moisture it would most likely produce slower and less effective results."
He filed the successful field test away, then winced. A deep ache flared through his chest, like something inside him had been briefly burnt out.
He felt his internal energy waver—he knew he had already spent too much on freezing such a large mass.
Better head back and rest. No point dying because I got clever for five minutes.
…
As he made his way toward the thicker treeline, he heard cracking behind him—wet bursts and ugly gurgling. A shiver raced down his spine. Every instinct screamed run, but he turned anyway.
The frozen chicken was breaking itself back to life. It barrelled toward him now with more rage than hunger.
Tired, he hit the dirt, barely dodging the talons.
In that split second he glimpsed it—still frozen in places, heavily bleeding, parts of its body torn open by its own violent thawing. It looked like something that should already have dropped dead.
It came at him without care, heedless of what it tore apart to reach him. Realising the fight was spiralling, he bolted toward the thicker forest where the creature would struggle to manoeuvre.
But it was fast. Even in its ruined state it swung half-destroyed limbs at a tree—just missing him but blasting a huge chunk of bark and wood into the air.
Arion was launched skyward, hung there for one ugly second, then smashed into another trunk nearby.
"Guuuhuu-gahh!" The impact drove every scrap of air from his lungs.
He slid down, winded but frantic, and kept moving. He wanted nothing more than to get away from this twisted ice abomination.
Sprinting again, he noticed something worse—silence. In the middle of the nightmare the quiet was almost unbearable.
It didn't last.
Sound exploded. Something huge slammed into the ground ahead, shaking the trees. Arion stumbled back, hands shielding his eyes from dust and ice shards. Through the chaos he saw it: two murderous glowing eyes staring back.
The dust settled. The forest stilled.
Drained and exhausted, both of them stood face to face.
But Arion noticed something—a sliver of glitter, a faint gleam inside one of the open wounds. The same orb he had found in the fish, only larger.
He had almost nothing left. So he gambled.
The world seemed to slow.
Arion read the creature's movement first.
The wings first. Duck—then go for the orb.
And that was exactly what he did.
Dropping low, the damaged but still razor-sharp wings sliced the air above him, missing by inches yet shredding the trees behind.
This was his opening—his one chance. He had no real offensive magic left, so he either improvised or died.
He poured the last drops of internal energy into his right arm, forcing the Frost Snap transfer to cling close instead of casting outward.
But this time it was different.
Work. Please work. Come on!
The air around his forearm chilled hard. Sweat, vapour, and the thin film of moisture clinging to his skin crystallised in a rush, frosting over his arm as the transfer raced downward. Wincing through the pain, he fused his fingers together into a rigid spearhand and forced the freeze to keep building toward the tip.
Ice thickened there first—layer by layer, sharper and denser around his joined fingertips until a hard killing point formed over them. It was crude, painful, and unstable, but it was the only weapon he had left.
With all his remaining strength, he drove his arm forward, twisting through the hips and turning his body into a human spring. From foot to fingertip he became a living piston.
Ice met flesh. He drove the spearhand straight into the wound where the orb gleamed.
A sudden wail tore through the forest. The creature stumbled backward.
Yanking his arm free, Arion retreated, unsure if it was enough.
After a few tense heartbeats, the creature went silent. The blood stopped flowing. Then came cracking sounds—followed by an explosion of glass and glittering dust.
With a final twitch the creature crashed down. No movement. Just silence and one adrenaline-drunk heartbeat.
Arion stood trembling, pulse spiking, breath ragged. Then he sagged against the tree as the last of his strength gave out.
His right arm twitched; frost still clung to the skin like frostbite.
"Now… stay… dead… goddamn chicken."
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Frost Snap
Thermodynamics
Description:
I fix a point and force the cold through the target until moisture starts to crystallise.
It is not making ice from nothing. It is pulling heat out of whatever the effect catches properly until phase change kicks in.
On Earth, this sort of cooling would need extreme cryogenic conditions. Here, whatever this force is, it carries the effect far faster than it should.
Science:
Heat is being stripped out of the target medium at an unnatural rate.
Water and wet surfaces respond best. Air works, but not as effective.
The effect becomes much stronger when there is enough moisture for it to catch and spread cleanly.
In Layman Terms:
I rip heat out of something until it flash-freezes.
Wet targets suffer most.
It is clean, quick, and makes things shatter like glass.
Maxim:
"One wrong step is all it takes."