After my lengthy explanation, I withdrew my Essence. We went to sleep, having decided to set out as soon as we woke up, pressing forward in the hope of finding shelter for the following night.
I couldn't fall asleep and spent some time looking at my Bond.
Name: Oscar
Mana Core: Spark
20/100
Soul Attributes:
Integrity: 1/100
Resonance: 1/100
Depth: 1/100
Essence: Ashen Wanderer.
Understanding: 0/100
Epithets:
Lost in the snowy wastelands
The One Who Paid the Price
Fierce Defiance
Ashen Blood
Fortuna's Favorite
Terror of Kings
As I watched this, I realized I still knew nothing about this world; so much information had flooded my mind-couldn't they have told me at least a little bit about it?
I ended the Bond and tried to sleep, since I was definitely going to need my strength.
We slept soundly.
When I opened my eyes,
Scarlett was already sitting there, checking the straps on her gear.
"Good morning, Oscar."
"Good morning," I grunted.
Everything went… fine.
We ate the last of our supplies and gathered everything we could carry-dried meat, scraps of cloth, water. I took the king's pearl.
Before leaving, we decided to check the spot where the white king had died.
It was as expected.
No body.
No bones.
No drag marks.
Just dark, caked blood on the snow and ragged craters in the ground.
"Kings are in high demand around here," Scarlett said.
I nodded.
We didn't linger.
And we left.
A month.
A whole month of icy wastelands.
If I had to describe it in one word-incredible luck.
Every day we found shelter.
Sometimes they were natural caves carved deep into the rocks.
Sometimes-half-buried structures, as if a civilization had once existed here.
Ruined towers sticking out of the snow.
Stone walls without roofs.
Once we stumbled upon a strange circle of black columns, inside which the wind was barely felt-and spent the night there.
Monsters were rare during the day.
More often-minions.
Sometimes-lords.
We didn't go looking for trouble.
We fought only when necessary.
I gradually learned to control the flame more precisely-not with bursts, but with thin streams. Scarlett trained with a sword. I also tried to understand the concept of my essence more deeply. Maintaining the essence, despite everything, required no effort at all. Presumably because the essence is my natural state; it's no wonder this armor and mask feel so natural. As if they were an extension of myself. I also discovered something interesting. As long as I wear the mask, I naturally sense where I need to go, on a mysteriously intuitive level. So, while before we were wandering aimlessly, now we were moving thanks to my intuition, and I was confident it would lead me where I needed to go.
We were getting by.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And perhaps that was exactly why we made it to the end of the month.
And then the food ran out.
Completely.
We sat by a small fire we'd built in a hollow between the rocks. The wind howled outside, but it barely reached us here.
Scarlett stared thoughtfully at the empty bag.
"I guess all we have left is snow?" she said philosophically.
"And optimism," I added.
She looked at me.
"Oscar."
"What?"
"You do realize that optimism doesn't roast over a fire, don't you?"
I sighed.
I did.
We encountered minions often. But before, we ignored them if they didn't get in our way.
Now… the situation had changed.
"Theoretically," I began cautiously, "they're made of flesh."
"Very inspiring, Oscar."
"And mana."
Scarlett raised an eyebrow.
"Are you suggesting I conduct a culinary experiment based on the concentrated aggression of this world?"
"When you put it that way, it doesn't sound so bad."
She folded her arms.
"Oscar."
I stood up.
"Fine. I'll catch something… a newborn. The weakest one. If I don't grow tentacles in ten minutes, it means it's safe to eat."
"A wonderful safety criterion," she smirked.
A lone Askeil wolf was found quickly. I'd killed one before, so I knew its name.
Minion.
A newborn.
Its mana level was almost empty.
It was larger than a typical Earth wolf, with fur resembling frosty needles. Its eyes glowed a pale blue.
He lunged first.
I stepped aside.
One precise strike.
Clean.
Quick.
When I returned to camp, slinging the carcass over my shoulder, Scarlett looked at me with an expression that was a mix of skepticism and hunger.
"Well, hunter?"
"If this kills us," I said, setting the carcase down, "at least we won't die of starvation."
The cooking process turned out to be… unexpectedly mundane.
We skinned the carcass.
Its blood was darker than usual, almost with a purple tint.
The meat was dense, with a slight metallic smell.
"It smells like frost and iron," Scarlett remarked.
"A strange combination of flavors for meat," I replied.
We cut the meat into pieces and threaded them onto makeshift skewers made from metal rods we'd found in one of the ruins.
When the meat was over the fire, something strange happened.
It didn't sizzle like usual.
It crackled quietly-as if something were being released from inside.
A faint bluish smoke rose above the fire.
Scarlett narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"If I start glowing, it's your fault."
"I don't think you can glow any brighter than you already do," I said with a smirk.
She snorted.
After a while, the meat turned dark and developed a crispy crust.
I cut off a small piece.
I blew on it.
I sniffed it.
"Well?"
"It smells… fine."
"That's not an answer."
I took a bite.
I chewed.
I froze.
Scarlett tensed up.
"Oscar?"
I swallowed slowly.
I listened to myself.
The core responded with a faint warmth.
No pain.
No mutation.
"It tastes… like very tough venison. With a hint of copper. Actually, the food at the orphanage on Earth was pretty much the same."
She grimaced.
"Wonderful."
"And," I added, "I feel a faint flow of mana."
That piqued her interest.
She carefully cut off a small piece.
Brought it to her lips.
"I hope we don't turn into wolves…"
"I think it'll suit you."
She rolled her eyes-and took a bite.
She chewed slowly.
Very slowly.
Then she swallowed.
We both froze.
A second passed.
A second.
A third.
Scarlett blinked.
"Well?"
She fell silent.
"This is the worst dinner of my life."
I exhaled.
"But?"
She closed her eyes for a moment.
"I feel… warmth. In my chest. Light. As if the core has become denser."
I smiled.
"So, it's working."
She looked at the piece of meat in her hand.
Then at me.
"We've officially eaten our first monster, Oscar."
I shrugged, taking another bite.
"But we'll stay alive… and not hungry. Hunger is a warrior's worst enemy."
Scarlett chuckled.
"If, a month from now, we start discussing ways to pickle Lords-remind me that it all started with this wolf."
"Aren't you being a bit arrogant, thinking we could kill a Lord?"
We laughed.
The fire crackled quietly.
The wind howled somewhere in the distance.
And we ate the monster-and felt ourselves growing a little stronger.
The third month was almost no different from the second.
The same endless whiteness.
The same wind, cutting across our faces like sandpaper.
The same rare dark silhouettes of ruins on the horizon, resembling the wreckage of a long-dead world.
We moved at a steady pace.
Not fast.
But without stopping for long either.
Over time, we learned the most important lesson: not to try to be heroes.
Even if a single newborn minion no longer frightened us. I could kill it with a single precise blow, and so could Scarlett-in theory.
But the problem wasn't just one minion.
Minions almost never traveled alone.
Askail's wolves-in packs of twenty to thirty.
Shadow crawlers-by the dozen, merging into a single ragged mass. And they'd dissolve after death, so you couldn't even eat them.
Sometimes we'd see movement on the horizon-and we'd simply change our route.
Quantity kills.
Even a weak minion, if there are enough of them, can wear you down in an exhausting battle.
We avoided unnecessary encounters.
We fought only when we needed provisions or had no other choice.
Gradually, we learned to sense the density of mana in the air. If it thickened, it meant something larger than a minion was nearby.
And then we turned back.
By the third month, I finally made up my mind.
The King's Pearl had been lying in my backpack all this time, wrapped in cloth.
Sometimes I'd take it out and just hold it in my palm.
It was heavy-not in weight, but in presence.
Scarlett didn't say anything.
But I could tell she was waiting.
That evening, we took shelter in a deep cave with a narrow entrance.
I lit a fire.
The flames responded softly, obediently.
I took out the shell.
"Now?" Scarlett asked quietly.
I nodded.
"If we keep putting it off, I'll start coming up with reasons not to do it."
She smiled.
"That makes sense."
I sat down, straightened up.
I focused on the core inside my chest.
I felt its rhythm.
Then I brought the pearl to my mouth.
It tasted… strange.
Not like a stone.
More like a dense clump of energy that dissolved the moment it touched my tongue.
As soon as I swallowed it, warmth spread through my body.
Gently at first.
Then sharply.
The core inside seemed to shudder.
The cave felt cramped for a second.
Mana began to be drawn into me-not from the air, but from the pearl itself.
I clenched my teeth.
There was no pain.
There was pressure.
As if a vessel designed for a single volume were suddenly being filled with twice as much.
The core spun faster.
The streams of mana inside my body were thickening.
Scarlett moved closer but didn't interfere.
I focused.
Don't resist.
Guide.
Squeeze.
Stabilize.
After a few long minutes, the pressure began to subside.
The heat became steady.
Deep.
When I opened my eyes, the world felt different.
Clearer.
Denser.
I exhaled.
"Well?" Scarlett asked.
Summoning my Bond, I smiled slowly.
"Twice as much."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Impressive."
I nodded.
I raised my hand.
The flame flared-higher, denser, yet more stable.
"The burn feels different now. I can maintain the fire's form longer."
Scarlett stared intently at the fire.
"Any side effects?"
I listened to myself.
"No."
Then I smiled wryly:
"Unless you count the growing feeling that I'm becoming too confident."
She snorted.
"That's the last thing we need."
The fourth month began almost imperceptibly.
At first, it just seemed like the wind had grown gentler.
Then-that the snow wasn't as deep.
And then we realized.
The landscape was changing.
The ice began to thin.
Instead of endless whiteness, dark strips of earth began to appear.
At first, narrow ones.
Then wider ones.
The snow wasn't melting evenly, but in patches-as if winter were retreating not according to the calendar, but according to the will of the world itself.
For the first time ever, we saw water that wasn't frozen-a thin stream breaking through the icy crust.
"Is this… spring?" Scarlett said quietly.
"Or maybe just a different area," I replied.
But something inside me stirred.
If winter is ending, then something different lies ahead.
The vegetation was still sparse-dry, dark stems pushing up from under the snow.
But the very fact of the changes instilled a strange feeling.
Hope.
And anxiety at the same time.
Because if the climate is changing…
Then the monsters that live here might be different, too.
We kept going.
More alert than before.
Stronger.
But still cautious.
And somewhere deep inside, I felt:
The Icy Wasteland was only the first level of this world.
And something far more complex lay ahead of us.
We left the icy wasteland slowly, as if reluctant to part with a part of ourselves. With every step, the wind grew gentler, the snow thinned, and the air gradually filled with a damp freshness, unfamiliar to our nostrils. I could feel the core reacting to the changes: warmth flowed more freely, and mana seemed to come alive within me.
"Is this good for us?" Scarlett asked quietly, almost to herself.
"My intuition is leading us here. So everything will be all right."
We kept walking.
The ice beneath our feet grew brittle.
The wind turned damp.
The smell changed.
No longer a cold emptiness.
But dampness. Soil. Decay. Life.
"Can you feel it?" Scarlett asked quietly.
I nodded.
The mana in the air had changed.
No longer sharp, like ice crystals.
But fluid. Soft. Deep.
Ahead, the first dark line appeared-the earth. Real. Without a shell of snow.
We stepped onto it cautiously.
It gave way beneath us.
After months of snow crunching under our soles, it felt almost wrong.
A day later, the snow was behind us.
A plain opened up before us-not perfect, not manicured, but alive.
Tall grass reached up to our knees.
Among it-low bushes with crimson leaves.
Strange flowers, like glass bowls in which the morning dew gathered.
A strip of forest was visible in the distance.
A real forest.
Not dead black skeletons, like in the ice zone.
But dense, broad canopies.
Scarlett stopped.
"It's… almost like home."
I didn't answer right away.
"Almost" is the most dangerous word.
Because what feels almost familiar can turn out to be the most foreign.
I closed my eyes.
The core responded with a steady pulsation.
The flame didn't burst outward.
It swirled calmly inside, as if it had accepted this land.
But along with relief came caution.
If the zone had changed-
then the monsters would be different too.
And they really were different.
And while I was thinking about this, my Bond whispered to me.
You have lost your epithet
You have lost your epithet
Now I was no longer lost in the winter wastelands, nor had I paid the price.
On the third day, we saw a creature resembling a deer.
On the third day, we saw a creature that resembled a deer.
Only its antlers were translucent, as if carved from amber.
And between them, thin threads of light shimmered.
It looked at us for a long time.
Not aggressively.
Assessingly.
We didn't approach.
Quantity could still kill.
Even if everything looked peaceful.
Later, we noticed broad silhouettes in the sky-birds, but too large.
And too quiet.
We kept walking.
It happened on the sixth day after leaving the icy zone.
We almost walked right past it.
A wooden post, driven into the ground by a barely visible trail.
Almost rotten.
Entwined with vines.
Crooked, as if the wind had tried to knock it over many times.
I stopped.
Too smooth.
Too neat.
I stepped closer and scraped away a layer of moss with my knife.
Carved letters appeared beneath it.
Human.
Real.
I slowly read aloud:
"477 km Citadel of Hope"
We froze.
Four hundred seventy-seven kilometers.
This wasn't just a direction.
It was a journey. And my intuition told me that was where we needed to go.
Scarlett ran her fingers over the wood.
"These… aren't runes… This was carved by hand."
I nodded.
Someone had stood here.
Someone had taken the time.
Someone wanted others to find their way here.
"Almost five hundred kilometers," she said quietly.
"So there really is a human city here. Or something big enough, at least."
I looked out over the plain.
Now it seemed more than just beautiful.
It turned into a path.
We decided to head in that direction.
The trail was faint-trodden grass, a slightly wider opening between the bushes.
After a few kilometers, we found a second landmark.
This time, it wasn't a pole.
A mark had been burned into the bark of a large tree: a circle crossed by a vertical line.
Beneath it was an inscription:
"Citadel of Hope
Follow the markers
Do not stray from the route at night"
The letters were fresher.
So the city exists.
And its inhabitants continue to maintain the path.
469 kilometers.
Even if we cover 35–40 kilometers a day, that's more than a week's journey.
And if we factor in detours, dangers, and searching for shelter-it could take more than a month.
"That's far," said Scarlett.
I nodded.
"Shall we go?"
I looked at the horizon.
The ice was behind us.
The white wasteland was now a memory.
Before us lay green land-forests, lakes, hills.
If there are people here-
then there are answers there.
"Let's go," Scarlett replied enthusiastically.
With each passing day, signs of human presence became more noticeable.
Someone was maintaining the route.
Someone was making sure the road didn't disappear.
We began to pay closer attention.
On the 12th day of our journey to the Citadel of Hope.
I spotted the sign from a distance.
It stood at the edge of the path, leaning slightly to one side, as if weary from a long wait. The wood looked lighter in color than the previous posts we had encountered.
Fresh.
I stepped closer.
At the top, the words were neatly carved:
← 180 km
Citadel of Hope
The letters were even and deep. They had been carved calmly, without haste.
But below was another inscription.
I ran my fingers over the rough grooves.
Beware…
Further down was a charred section of wood. As if the word had been burned out from the inside.
"What was there?" Scarlett asked, stepping closer.
"I wish I knew."
She crouched down next to the pole and examined the charred spot closely.
"This wasn't made with the same tool."
"It looks like fire."
"But fire behaves differently."
She stood up and looked toward the forest.
"Someone left a warning."
"And someone else removed it," Scarlett said seriously.
We stood there in silence for a moment.
The forest ahead looked… peaceful.
Too calm.
The wind barely stirred the leaves, and light filtered through the branches in soft green streaks.
"Shall we go?" Scarlett said.
I nodded.
And we entered the forest.
After a while, I began to smell a strange scent.
Sweet.
Like flowers.
Scarlett noticed it too.
"It's too thick," she said, wrinkling her nose.
I was about to reply, but just then we heard crying.
A child's.
We exchanged a quick glance.
The sound was coming from the left.
I parted the branches.
A little girl was sitting under a large tree.
She was small, with light hair. Her knees were dirty, and the hem of her dress was torn.
She looked up, and her eyes sparkled in the light.
"Please…" she said quietly.
Scarlett went straight over to her.
"Are you alone?"
The girl nodded.
"Where are your parents?"
She pointed deep into the forest.
"Over there… they're sleeping."
I looked at her closely.
"What's your name?"
"Leah."
She stood up.
"I know where the people are."
Scarlett looked at me.
I shrugged.
After four months on the road, the thought of people sounded too good to be true. Something wasn't right. What had the little girl left behind here… What am I talking about?
But the girl was already walking ahead.
And we followed her.
The forest began to thin out.
A few minutes later, the trees parted, and I saw a road.
A stone road.
And then-walls.
Tall, gray walls.
Towers.
Flags.
I stopped.
Scarlett exhaled quietly:
"The Citadel of Hope…"
The girl turned around and smiled.
"I told you so."
The guards at the gate spotted us.
"Survivors?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Then come on in. You're welcome here."
The gate opened.
And we went in.
----------------------------------------------------------
I stood in the middle of the street and looked around.
The city turned out to be bigger than I had expected.
Stone houses lined both sides of the road. People were walking back and forth; some were carrying baskets of food, others were chatting at the doors of shops.
After months of wasteland, it all seemed almost unreal.
I slowly turned to Oscar.
"Looks like we made it after all."
He smiled.
"So far, so good."
They gave us a room near the city's inner wall.
Small, but clean.
A bed.
Water.
A hot meal.
I fell asleep almost immediately.
The first few days passed quietly.
Oscar helped the guards at the training ground. Sometimes they asked him to demonstrate a few moves, and he did so with his usual ease.
I spent my time in the library.
A small room with wooden shelves filled with books. Some of them were very old.
Sometimes we walked through the streets.
The city went about its business.
But sometimes I had a strange feeling.
Conversations.
They sounded… the same.
One man said:
"This is a safe place for you to stay."
Another said almost the exact same thing:
"You can stay here as long as you need to."
I couldn't figure out exactly what was bothering me.
But the words seemed to sound slightly… unnatural.
As if people had chosen them too carefully.
On the fourth night, I woke up.
And I didn't immediately realize why.
The room was quiet.
Oscar was sleeping in the bed next to mine.
Leaves rustled outside the window.
I got up and walked over to the window.
The street was empty.
Too empty.
I frowned.
During the day, the city seemed lively.
But at night…
not a single light.
Not a single voice.
I ran my hand across the glass.
And suddenly noticed something strange.
In the reflection, my face moved a split second later.
Barely noticeable.
I froze.
Then I blinked slowly.
The reflection blinked too.
I exhaled quietly.
"I must be tired…"
I went back to the bed.
But when I lay down, that strange feeling didn't go away.
I placed my hand on my chest.
And for a second, it seemed to me that the warmth wasn't coming only from within.
As if something around me was also trying to touch my mind.
I opened my eyes.
Shadows from the branches outside the window were sliding across the wall.
Long ones.
Like fingers.
I looked at them.
Just for a moment.
Almost imperceptibly.
But it was at that very moment that the spell began to crack.
End of Part 1: Snowy Wastelands.