The wind cut like invisible blades.
Snow fell endlessly, covering everything beneath a thick layer of silence and death.
In the middle of that frozen forest, a lone figure moved slowly between the trees, his steps leaving deep marks in the white snow.
He wore a cloak made of white wolf fur — coarse but thick — its edges stained with dried blood and mud. Beneath it, a young man with black hair and gray eyes stood trembling, holding a rock with both hands.
"Y'know what, Rock?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and weary. "If I'd known hell was this cold, I would've brought a damn scarf."
The rock, of course, didn't answer.
But Oliver nodded as if it had.
"Exactly. I think this place is a joke too. A cruel prank by some twisted god who enjoys watching people suffer."
"Two months," he said, staring up at the gray sky. "Two months since I was torn from my world. No people. No light. Nothing… just snow and monsters that try to eat me every night."
A distant growl echoed through the trees. Oliver fell silent, his gray eyes scanning the forest, tracking the sound. After a few seconds, he sighed and sank onto a frost-covered rock.
"And here I am, talking to another rock."
He laughed without joy. "Maybe I'm already crazy. Or maybe madness is the only thing keeping people sane here."
The wind blew harder. His fur cloak fluttered behind him, and for a moment, his silhouette looked like that of a lost ghost.
"If someone up there's listening," he whispered bitterly, "I hope you're satisfied, bastard."
Oliver kicked the snow hard. The flakes scattered like silver dust beneath his worn boots.
His breath was visible; his whole body trembled, yet his eyes still burned with fierce determination — refusing to yield to the world.
"If this world wants to kill me," he growled, "it'll have to try harder."
After resting, Oliver stood up again and pressed forward, his figure slowly vanishing among the white trees.
---
The snow was still falling when Oliver heard a distant roar — a sound that froze his blood.
It was guttural and harsh, shaking the cold air and shattering the silence that ruled the forest.
Oliver crouched instantly, pure instinct taking over. His hand slid to the crude knife hanging from his belt. The forest's noises were warnings; those who ignored them didn't live long enough to regret it.
Among the dancing flakes, he saw movement.
First a shadow. Then, a flash of something white slipping between the trees.
And then he saw it — a massive crocodile covered in icy scales, dragging itself clumsily from a frozen lake, its breath turning to mist.
Before it stood a human figure.
A girl.
Her short, dark hair hung messily over her pale face. Her breathing was uneven, and her left hand pressed against an open wound on her abdomen, crimson blood spilling onto the snow.
And yet — her eyes… those dark eyes, like a starless night, burned with something inhuman — with an absolute, unbreakable will to live.
"Come on…" she whispered, gripping a short sword with both hands. "I'm not dying here."
The crocodile growled low, its gaze locked on its prey.
Oliver froze, watching.
He could leave. Pretend he hadn't seen anything.
But he couldn't look away.
The monster charged, slamming into the girl with crushing force.
She spun through the snow, leaving a red streak behind her flight.
Her sword cut through the air, grazing the creature's jaw — but the scales deflected the blade with a metallic clang. The impact sent her stumbling back, her wound tearing wider, spilling more hot blood onto the cold white ground.
Grunting, she pushed herself up again. This time, when the crocodile lunged with its jaws wide open, she dodged to the side and drove her sword beneath its left eye. A roar tore through the forest.
The beast thrashed wildly, dragging her with its bulk and slamming her into a tree.
The sword remained lodged in its skull, blinding one eye, but the blow had knocked the air out of her lungs.
She collapsed to her knees, gasping.
The monster, blinded by pain and fury, lashed out, smashing the ground with its tail and breaking branches and snow alike.
Oliver didn't think. His body moved before his mind could stop it.
He sprinted into the clearing, knife in hand. When the monster turned toward him, he leaped forward and plunged the blade into its neck.
The horn knife sank between cracked scales left weak by the earlier strike. A burst of steam and warm blood splashed over him as the blade tore through flesh.
The creature roared one last time before collapsing, motionless — thick blood still spilling from the wound.
Oliver felt his heart hammering against his ribs, adrenaline surging through him after what he'd done.
He stepped back from the corpse, breathing hard. His hands trembled — not from fear, but from the cold. He looked toward the girl, lying motionless on the snow, her eyes staring blankly up at the gray sky.
For a moment, he thought she was dead.
Then her chest rose — faintly.
He exhaled sharply, wiping blood from his knife onto his wolfskin cloak.
"...Damn it," he muttered angrily at himself.
He knelt beside her. The wound on her abdomen was still bleeding badly; if he didn't do something, she'd lose too much blood.
Oliver pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around her. The wolf fur still held some warmth. Cursing under his breath, he tightened it around her waist, stopping the bleeding — at least for now. Then he looked down at the girl, who was hovering between life and death.
"If you survived that," he said quietly, "don't you dare die on me in such a cliché way."
Her eyes fluttered open just a little. She looked at him, unfocused, and whispered weakly:
"Are… you… another monster?"
Oliver shook his head.
"No. Now shut up and let me finish patching you up."
The girl lost consciousness soon after.
Oliver finished binding the wound as best he could, then lifted her onto his back with effort — she was heavier than she looked.
After glancing around for a moment, he remembered a cave he'd seen nearby — a place safe enough to shield them from the cold.
Oliver trudged through the snow for nearly a dozen minutes before finding it. Inside, he set the girl down gently, then left again, returning to the monster's corpse. He needed to recover his knife, her sword, and take some of the crocodile's meat for dinner that night.