The ice plain stretched out to infinity, white and dazzling, its only breaks the rocky cliffs and distant glaciers that glinted in the pale light. Drake stumbled from the cave, claws scraping against the slick surface.
Snow puffed around him with every step, spouting in little clouds that encountered the feeble sunlight and condensed into sparkling crystals. His tail whipped against the frozen ground, wings flapping awkwardly as he fought for balance.
He toppled, rolled, and thudded onto all fours, gritting teeth as he fought to get his bearings.
"Flying… okay, maybe tomorrow," he snarled at himself, scolding inwardly. The wings were stubby, not much more than lifting him, but the tail, claws, and new leg muscles provided him with a bizarre leverage.
All of the nerve endings tingled with new sensations—cold, slashing, alive. The wind bit at his nostrils, ears, and scales. The ice scraped at his claws, each step resonating up through his body. This dragon body sensed everything, more than he ever had in human flesh.
He tried to jump forward, flapping wings and swishing his tail for balance, but the first few tries resulted in sliding sideways or nose-diving into a snowbank. He spat out a mouthful of snow, shaking his head.
"Balance is still a work in progress," he admitted.
The ice plain was breathtaking. Ice spires' frozen teeth protruded from the ground, glaciers shone on the horizon, and ice rivers twisted and turned across the plain like shards of glass.
Currents of mana undercut the plain, subtle streams of golden and blue energy that pulsed with life, visible only to him. Even the wind carried it, whispering gently of movement and action, of a world that was alive in ways he could never have imagined.
Slowly now, Drake approached a frozen lake. Its surface was glassy smooth, reflecting the pale sun in sharp splinters of light. Beneath it, small fish swam slowly, their pale bodies visible through the ice.
He crouched low, tail twitching automatically for balance, claws sinking into the snow. Hunger gnawed inside him—a hollow, crawling pain he had not felt in years. His instinct told him what to do, urging him forward.
He exhaled a small spark of flame, melting a patch of ice just enough to reach the water. Steam hissed upward as the fire touched the ice, and Drake felt a surge of satisfaction. Carefully, he dipped his snout in and drank. The water was freezing, biting at his throat, but warmth spread through his body almost instantly.
He licked the remaining ice in the hole, savoring the taste and texture. For the first time in this new life, he was feeding himself.
The act of eating brought awareness of other changes—his body felt different, alive in ways he was still learning to understand. Muscles tightened and loosened with every movement, wings and tail providing subtle balance, claws digging into the ice when necessary. Small bursts of fire were effortless now, curling and sparking from his nostrils, licking snow or ice as he experimented. Each flame was a tiny test, a probe, a way to understand the limits of his power.
Hours passed. Drake wandered the plain, testing his movements. He tried hopping from one ridge to another, flapping his wings to aid jumps, tail sweeping like a rudder.
Sometimes he slid, sometimes he caught himself perfectly. He tested fire again, melting patches of snow to reveal hardened ice beneath, then scratching at it with claws to see what patterns emerged. Everything was practice, everything a lesson.
As the sun lowered, casting pale pink and orange light across the ice, Drake paused atop a small rise. The world was vast. Shadows stretched long, painting the ice in surreal shapes. The glaciers in the distance seemed to pulse faintly with energy, mana flowing through them in currents he could sense but not yet fully understand. The plain was silent, save for the crunch of his claws on snow and the whisper of the wind.
He crouched, tail coiled, and let the mana flows wash over him. He could feel it everywhere—the air, the ice, the subtle pulse beneath the ground. Every step he had taken, every flap of his wings, every spark of fire seemed to resonate with it. It was alive, patient, waiting for him to understand it. And he could. He knew he could.
As night fell, the auroras appeared, shivering across the sky in green, violet, and gold. They reflected in the ice, fractured into ribbons of light.
Drake curled up in a small patch of snow warmed by his earlier flames, wings folding tightly around his body, tail wrapped protectively. His amber eyes traced the shifting patterns above, watching the auroras twist and dance like threads of raw magic in the sky.
Even in the silence, he felt the life of the ice plain—the subtle pulse of energy in the snow, the whisper of wind, the shimmer of distant ice. Every sensory input told him something: this world was alive, vast, and beautiful. He was small in comparison, yes, but alive in a way that thrilled him, a raw awareness of potential running through every scale and sinew.
Drake exhaled a thin stream of smoke, watching it curl and vanish into the cold night air. He flexed his claws experimentally, sparks flicking from his nostrils, just to feel the power hum beneath his skin. Fire, strength, flight—these were tools now, and every movement shaped understanding, skill, and instinct.
The cold seeped into him, but it didn't bother him; it reminded him that he was alive. The hunger, the effort of movement, the new sensations of this body—all of it was proof that he had begun. The world stretched endlessly, frozen and quiet, waiting. And he was ready to meet it, to explore it, and to learn it, one movement at a time.
With tail curled around his body and wings tucked close, he lay on the snow, watching the auroras twist overhead, breathing in the sharp, clean air, listening to the faint hum of mana beneath the ice. The first day had begun, not with triumph or battle, but with the slow, careful rhythm of survival and discovery. And it was enough.