I stayed where I was.
The world around me was quiet—snowfall whispering against ice, the faint moan of the wind threading through the mountains—but inside, everything screamed. My body still trembled, my veins still echoed with that invasive burn, and every breath I took reminded me of what had just happened.
I wanted to move. I wanted to leave this cursed place, to chase the light that had pulled me here. But my body refused. Or maybe it was my mind.
The slit on my forehead pulsed once, faint but undeniable. I froze, waiting for it to open again, for the eye to tear me apart from within. But nothing happened. Just that faint reminder—it was still there.
Slowly, I lowered my hand, letting it rest on my lap as I hovered above the snow. My thoughts churned, circling the truth I had been trying to avoid.
I'm not human anymore.
The words carved themselves deep, and though I had been suspecting it since the first sight of my black-and-gold blood, saying it within myself made it real. My body wasn't mine, not the body I remembered. This skin, this unnatural perfection, the markings that surged with unknown power, and now this… third thing, this slit on my forehead—this was something else entirely.
And the worst part? I didn't know what I was becoming.
The marks along my arms glimmered faintly, almost as if in agreement—or perhaps mockery. They looked harmless, decorative even, but I knew better now. They had come alive when I was at the brink of being consumed, when the flora tried to hollow me out. They had fought back, devoured, protected. But I hadn't called on them. They had acted on their own, as though some deeper instinct within me—or within them—refused to let me be taken.
So whose will was stronger? Mine, or the thing that was shaping me?
I exhaled, watching my breath frost and vanish in the frozen air.
Perhaps this is what I am meant to be now. A vessel. A creature forged by forces I do not understand.
The thought was a heavy one, but the longer I lingered on it, the more I realized fighting it was useless. I had already stepped into this new existence the moment I touched the blue light. My path had already been decided—whether I embraced it or not.
Still, fear clung to me. It was new. Sharp. A feeling I couldn't just bury beneath determination. For the first time, death didn't feel like an end, but a mercy I might never be granted again.
My gaze turned slowly toward the horizon, where the faint glow of the light still beckoned beyond the mountains.
It looked so far away now. Distant. Untouchable.
But I knew one thing: staying here, caged in fear, was no different than dying.
And I had not come this far just to die still.
I straightened my posture, forcing the trembling in my limbs to quiet. My breaths slowed. My thoughts, though heavy, began to align. I was becoming something else, something that carried both dread and power—and whether that was blessing or curse, I would have to decide for myself.
For now, I would endure.
For now, I would move forward.
Yet, I remained still a little longer, floating above the snow, the silence of the frozen land pressing down on me. Because I knew once I started again—once I left this place behind—there would be no turning back.
I lingered, unwilling to move until I knew.
Slowly, I lowered myself onto the snow-covered ground, my bare feet meeting the ice without flinch. The cold was there, sharp and biting, but it didn't hurt me the way it should have. It was almost… muted. My body absorbed it as though it belonged here more than I ever did.
My hand went first to my chest, pressing against where my heart should have been racing. It beat, steady and strong—yet slower, deeper, resonant. Each thud reverberated through my ribs like a drum, unnatural but powerful. It wasn't the heartbeat of a frail man riddled with sickness. It was the heartbeat of something else.
The markings on my arms stirred faintly, flickering with that gray luminescence. I flexed my fingers, watching the light pulse as if acknowledging the motion. They were tied to me now—flesh and skin, not decoration.
And then my hand brushed upward, fingertips grazing the faint slit on my forehead. My skin crawled instantly, as if touching something foreign that should not be there. It was closed, harmless for the moment, but I could feel it—alive. Watching even when shut.
I pulled my hand back sharply, unease tightening my chest.
Then I caught my reflection.
A sheen of ice lay across the rocks, smooth enough to mirror my shape. The figure staring back was not the Alatar I remembered. Taller. Broader. No trace of weakness, no frailty of sickness. My hair, longer, darker. Eyes sharper, as if carved to pierce. And the slit—that terrible mark of what I'd just endured—rested like a scar, faint but undeniable, a promise of something waiting beneath.
I swallowed hard.
"Not human," I muttered, my voice foreign to my own ears. Stronger. Firmer. A statement rather than fear.
The air felt heavy in my lungs, yet it filled me without effort. My body was not breaking—it was adapting. The flora hadn't destroyed me. It had become a part of me.
I drew a long, steady breath, forcing the lingering tremor of fear to settle. The truth was plain now: whatever I was becoming, whatever this world demanded of me, standing still would not bring answers.
My eyes lifted to the mountains once more. The light shimmered faintly beyond the peaks, patient, waiting.
It had drawn me here for a reason.
And now, changed, scarred, but still alive—I would go to it.
With a final glance at the icy reflection, I rose from the ground, floating upward again with surprising ease. The hesitation in my movements was gone, replaced by a measured certainty.
One step—or perhaps one flight—at a time, I turned toward the light and began moving forward.