The cold lingered.
It wasn't the kind of cold that makes your skin pale or made your breath visible—it was deeper, bone-deep, the kind that sank into marrow and refused to leave. Snowflakes drift gently through the air, like ash from some forgotten fire.
Aelric stirred.
Voices are calling him, muffled and distant. He tried to open his eyes. Shapes swam in front of him, blurred and shifting. A figure in black nearby, robe billowing slightly in the breeze. They were holding something—he couldn't tell what. Before he could focus, everything faded to black again.
Hours have passed, he woke up looking at the sky.
His body ached. The air was still cold, but not the same—less brutal, more surreal. He blinked slowly, the light now softer, the snowfall gentler. He sat up with effort, groaning as he touched his forehead—his fingers grazed over rough skin where the bullet had struck him.
"Wait... what?" he murmured hoarsely.
He looked down at his gloved hands, trembling.
"I'm supposed to be dead, aren't I?" he said aloud, voice rasping in the strange silence.
His breath came in visible clouds, but something in the atmosphere was off. The sky above was tinged with faint hues of violet and gold. The trees surrounding him were tall and ancient, twisted in ways no birch or pine back in Russia ever grew.
"This place... This isn't Russia."
He rose slowly, snow crunching beneath his boots. The wind whispered through the branches above, carrying a scent he couldn't place—something unfamiliar, almost metallic.
Not far from where he had laid down, a rifle rested against a tree trunk, almost reverently. Beside it was a scroll, sealed with an old red wax stamp.
Aelric hesitated, then approached.
The rifle was strange. Sleek and almost too pristine, but its weight in his hands was familiar and comforting. With a cautious breath, he broke the seal on the scroll and unrolled it. The paper was covered in strange symbols and looping scripts. His blurry eyes looked at the writing, then instinctively began to read aloud.
As he spoke the final word, the scroll glowed.
A brilliant light erupted from it, taking over him. He looked back, shielding his eyes—but the glow wasn't painful. It felt warm, like something ancient and alive was recognizing him.
The light surged into his chest. He gasped as a voice—calm and emotionless—echoed inside his mind:
"Congratulations. You have successfully obtained [The Eyes of Simo Häyhä] and [Unlimited Ammo]."
Then the scroll disintegrated into ash, caught by the wind. He can't understand what's going on, and what's the voice all about.
Aelric fell to his knees, overwhelmed, heart pounding. The rifle in his hand now hummed faintly, as if it, too, had changed.
"What the hell is this place?" he whispered.
No answer came.
Only the wind and cold... that still lingered.
After an hour of thinking, Aelric finally made up his mind, he needed to move. Staying in one place feels so wrong, so he grabbed his rifle and set out to explore the area.
The snow is eating his boots as he walked through the silent, frozen forest. Icy wind is making his face pale. Suddenly, a rustling sound came from behind a nearby bush.
He froze.
He gripped his rifle tightly, he slowly walked toward the noise, heart pounding. Could be an animal... or something worse. He braces himself.
Just as he was about to strike, the leaves parted, he saw a startled camper kneeling by a small fire, trying to light it. The man looked up, wide-eyed.
"Hey man, easy! You scared the hell out of me," the camper said nervously. "Wanna join me for a bit?"
Aelric relaxed, lowering the rifle. "It's alright, I'm not gonna hurt you," he said, offering a faint smile.
The man exhaled in relief. "Phew. I'm Eric, by the way," he said, extending his hand.
Aelric reached out to shake it—but before their hands could meet, Eric's head was suddenly ripped from his shoulders. Blood sprayed into the snow. Aelric stumbled back in shock, eyes wide, horror can be seen across his face.
Standing in front of him was a inhuman creature, tall and hunched, with jagged teeth and filthy, black long claws.
Without thinking, Aelric checked his magazine. Empty.
He turned and ran, heart pumping rapidly in his chest, pushing through the thick snow. But after a few desperate minutes, he stopped.
A cliff.
Breathless, trembling, and cornered, he turned to face the beast. It was walking towards him.
He knew he couldn't fight. Not like this.
"The chances are low, but I'm risking it", he said.
Without hesitation, Aelric took one last breath and leapt off the edge.