The world had changed.
No more frost. No more grey. No more fog.
This place...breathed.
Tall trees soared overhead, their branches curling towards each other like lovers. A strange, wild green stretched before me—lush trees that towered high with thick trunks, vines curling up their sides like they’d been growing for centuries. The air smelled earthy and sweet. The ground was soft with sand and soil, and wildflowers bloomed in pockets like someone had sprinkled them on purpose.
It was green. Greener than anything had the right to be. It was so green it made my chest ache with how alive it felt.
I blinked.
Was I experiencing magic?
A laugh escaped me, broken and breathless, and I rose to my feet, brushing dirt and leaves off my clothes.
Yes, dirt. Not ice.
My legs were shaky, and my breath hitched. But gods, I was standing in something impossible.
I looked around, heart pounding, mouth dry. The sky overhead was pale gold, and warm wind brushed my cheeks like a welcome.
Shouldering my backpack, I started walking with no idea where I was going. Something in me tugged again—less urgent this time, more curious, very gentle, and I let it.
Because for once in a long, long time, following that feeling felt right.
I walked.
As I moved, I snapped pictures of glowing leaves, of strange trees, of vines that looked almost too symmetrical to be real. The warmth was a relief at first. But then it got unbearable.
The air turned sticky, and the heat pressed down on me, soaking through my layers. Several minutes later, I peeled off my sweaters one by one until I was down to just one shirt. My water bottle was empty. I was sweating and thirsty and slowly losing patience.
“If the cold didn’t kill me,” I muttered, dragging one sleeve over my damp forehead, “the goddamn heat will.”
The trees started blending into one another, the ground dipping and rising in a way that made it impossible to tell if I was even going the right way. The path felt endless, and the trees kept shifting. My feet hurt, my throat burned, and I was sweating like I’d run a marathon. I had no clue where I was headed or where the paths were taking me, but weirdly, I kept going.
Until I couldn’t.
Just when I was about to sit down to catch my breath, I heard something.
Water.
A steady stream.
I dropped my bag and placed the heated medallion on top of it, rushing towards the sound as twigs snapped beneath my boots. I sprinted through the trees until I saw a narrow river tucked between roots and boulders, clear as glass, flowing over moss-covered stones. It looked like something out of a fairy tale.
I knew I shouldn’t.
I knew.
But I dropped to my knees anyway and scooped the water up, drinking it. It was cold, and I would have thought it had come straight from a glacier if I didn’t know better.
I rinsed my face, let the cool splash over my cheeks, my neck, my arms. I stayed there longer than I should’ve, breathing like I hadn’t breathed in days.
But when I moved to stand, my legs betrayed me.
A slow, horrible weakness spread through me as dye would in water. My bones turned liquid, my limbs disconnected, and I fell sideways onto the soft earth.
Horror gripped my chest.
