The battle ended as quickly as it had begun. The vale, once alive with the sound of crystalline antlers cracking and spears of ice flying, fell silent again. Broken bodies of the deer lay scattered across the snow, their glowing markings dimming, the light fading from their antlers until they became nothing more than cold glassy spires. A few of the herd had escaped, limping into the mountains with their blue glow flickering faintly, but most had not been so fortunate.
The bears feasted with ruthless efficiency. Their massive jaws tore flesh, their claws split hide, the snow quickly stained a deep crimson beneath them. They devoured without hesitation, as if the violence of the kill was not savagery but necessity—law etched into the marrow of this place.
I hovered above, watching with a tightening chest. This was no chaos. There was order here, an ecosystem cruel in its beauty. The flora—the strange crystalline blossoms glowing faint red—existed to sustain the deer. The deer, graceful and elemental, existed to sustain the bears. And the bears… they reigned supreme, apex predators in a frozen kingdom where power alone defined survival.
The thought struck me cold. If even the beasts of this land command the elements… what place is there for me?
My gaze followed the leader of the bears. It stood apart from the others, its massive frame dominating the vale. Its white fur was streaked with faint scars, old marks of battles survived, and its eyes burned with a glacial light that seemed to pierce even the shadows. It roared once more, not in rage this time, but in dominion, its voice reverberating across the mountains like a declaration: We endure.
And then, as if pulled by some unseen tether, its head lifted.
Our eyes met.
I froze in the air, my body rigid, breath trapped in my lungs. Fear gripped me like chains, raw and immediate, unlike anything I had felt before. The bear's gaze was not simply animal—it was aware. Intelligent. It stared at me with the weight of a sovereign who had noticed an intruder trespassing his realm.
My thoughts spiraled. What should I do? Flee? Fight? Can I even hope to fight such a creature? If I stay still, will it see me as nothing more than a shadow? If I move, will it strike me down before I take a breath?
My heart pounded, frantic, each beat echoing in my ears. Strength hummed within me, my markings alive though still dormant, and yet I felt small—smaller than I had since arriving in this world.
The bear did not roar. It did not move to attack. It only stared, the silence of its regard heavier than the echo of its voice had been. A moment stretched, long enough for me to feel the full weight of being seen, of being measured—and then dismissed.
With a slow rumble deep in its chest, the leader turned. Its massive frame lumbered forward, joining the rest of its pack as they began their trek deeper into the mountains. The snow closed behind them, their forms fading into the blizzard.
I remained hovering in the silence they left behind, trembling with the aftershocks of fear, breath finally escaping my lips. They had seen me. Acknowledged me. And yet—for reasons I could not grasp—they had let me live.
Not a threat. Not yet.
But the message was clear: this world did not welcome weakness.
And if I wished to survive it, I would have to learn its rules.
I lingered in the silence long after the bears vanished into the white. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on me, heavier than the mountains themselves. To be seen, measured, and dismissed—it was a reprieve, but not a mercy. It left me shaken, trembling with the truth that in this world, survival was not guaranteed by chance but by power.
I forced myself to breathe, to steady the tremor in my chest. Move on, I thought. The light awaits. Standing still will not save me.
I shifted in the air, preparing to leave the vale, when something caught my eye.
The ground where the deer had fallen was soaked red, their blood spilling freely into the snow. But it was not pooling as it should have. No—something was drinking it. The patches of crystalline flora, those strange stalks tipped with blossoms of ice and faint red glow, were alive with motion. Their roots pulsed faintly, pulling the blood downward into the frost.
As the blood seeped into them, the blossoms deepened in color, their red glow flaring brighter, spreading through the veins of the stalks like fire racing through dry wood. What had been faint and fragile light moments ago now burned vivid, almost feverish, as though the plants themselves were feeding, growing strong from the kill.
I froze, staring. The plants… feed on blood?
The thought unsettled me more than the battle itself. Not because it was grotesque, but because it was ordered. The deer fed on the flora. The flora fed on the blood of the deer. A cycle, whole and deliberate. Nothing wasted. Nothing free.
Curiosity pried at me despite my unease. I drifted lower, floating down until I hovered just above one of the blossoms. Up close, I could see the crystalline surface more clearly, the petals like shards of ice tinted with crimson, faint steam curling from their tips as if they burned cold instead of hot. Beneath them, the rootwork pulsed faintly, veins glowing as they drank, carrying the stolen life deep into the ground.
I leaned closer, eyes narrowing, watching the phenomenon with a strange mix of wonder and dread. Even the plants here are bound to power. Even they live by the same law—take, or be taken.
For the first time since arriving, I felt as though the world itself was whispering its rules to me.
And the lesson was clear: in this land, nothing existed without cost.
Watching the flora, the blossoms pulsed faintly, their crimson glow stronger now than before, as though still savoring the blood of the fallen deer. For a moment I hesitated, hovering just above them. The memory of the bears' roar still lingered in my bones, a warning not to be reckless. But the pull of curiosity gnawed at me harder than caution.
If even the plants hold power here, then I need to understand them.
I extended a hand slowly, letting my fingers brush against the crystalline surface of one blossom. A sharp chill shot into my skin, colder than the wind, colder than the snow beneath me. It was a biting cold that seemed alive, as though the plant itself recognized me. I flinched but did not pull back, pressing my hand more firmly against it.
The surface was jagged, sharper than it appeared. My skin caught on a crystalline edge, and before I realized it, pain stung through my fingertip. Blood welled up—dark drops sliding free and splattering against the blossom.
I froze, staring.
It wasn't red.
The blood that dripped from me was stark black, gleaming like oil under the pale light. But within it shimmered faint streaks of gold, subtle yet undeniable, flowing like liquid fire through the darkness. I lifted my finger, staring at the impossible sight, my breath catching in my throat.
This isn't human. This isn't me.
A chill deeper than the plant's touch gripped me. The thought sank heavy in my chest: I might not be human anymore.
But then, the flora reacted.
The black-gold drops seeped into its surface, vanishing into the crystalline petals. Instantly, the red glow of the blossom faltered—snuffed out like a dying ember. In its place, the petals shone with shifting colors: not red, but a mingling of deep obsidian light streaked with golden fire. The glow spread downward through the stalk, its roots trembling violently, as if unable to contain what it had absorbed.
The entire plant pulsed erratically, no longer calm and steady but wild, unstable. I hovered back instinctively, watching in awe and unease.
My blood… changes it.
The cycle of this land—the plants feeding on blood, the deer feeding on plants, the bears feeding on deer—it was balanced, complete. But my blood did not belong to the cycle. It had broken it, rewriting the pattern into something new.
And that realization was more terrifying than the bears.