The mountain didn't care that we were careful.
Snow kept falling anyway.
It wasn't dramatic—no storm, no roaring wind. Just quiet, steady flakes piling up, turning paths into guesses and rocks into traps. Winter wasn't attacking us. It was waiting us out.
Porlyusica stopped suddenly.
I stopped too.
Below us, the forest thinned into a shallow ravine. White branches bent under snow, and between them—movement.
Three figures.
Different from before.
Lighter gear. Quieter steps.
"…They learned," I muttered.
"Yes," Porlyusica replied. "Which makes them dangerous."
One of the men crouched, fingers brushing the ground. Another scanned the slopes instead of the basin.
Smart.
Too smart for comfort.
I shifted my weight—
—and immediately froze.
My leg complained. Not pain. Pressure. A warning.
I exhaled slowly and stayed still.
Porlyusica noticed.
Good.
She didn't praise me.
She just nodded once.
We backed away the same way we came. No rush. No panic.
One careful step at a time.
Behind us, a voice echoed faintly through the trees.
"Tracks end here."
My pulse jumped.
Another voice answered, closer. "No. They turn."
I swallowed.
Porlyusica leaned close. "If they see us, we run."
"…If they chase?"
"We don't let them."
That didn't mean fighting.
It meant disappearing.
We moved when the wind shifted.
Snowfall thickened just enough to blur shapes, soften sound. Porlyusica took us through terrain that hated straight lines—fallen trunks, uneven rock, narrow ledges where footprints vanished under drifting powder.
My lungs burned.
My leg protested.
I didn't push.
That was new.
I adjusted my pace instead. Shorter steps. Lower center. Let the vibration stay quiet instead of forcing heat.
Behind us—shouting.
Closer.
Then confused.
Then fading.
By the time we stopped, crouched behind a stone outcrop, my whole body shook.
Not from fear.
From restraint.
"…I really wanted to run," I whispered.
Porlyusica snorted. "That's how you die."
"…Good talk."
She actually smirked.
Days blurred after that.
Snow deeper. Cold sharper.
We didn't rush the plant.
We watched it.
From different angles. Different times of day. Porlyusica made me note how the snow melted unevenly around it, how the stem darkened at dusk, how the leaves tightened when the temperature dropped too fast.
I failed twice.
Once by stepping too close too early—leg nearly locking up.
Once by trying to compensate with vibration and feeling my muscles push back like I'd insulted them.
Each time, the cost lingered longer.
Each time, I learned.
Slower wasn't weakness.
It was control.
At night, I wrote with stiff fingers.
Cold doesn't numb me like it should.
Heat stays if I don't force it.
If I rush, my body fights me. If I wait, it listens.
One morning, I woke to silence.
The wind had stopped.
The forest felt… wrong.
Porlyusica was already awake, staring downslope.
"…They're back," I said.
"Yes," she replied. "And not alone."
Two new figures stood with the searchers now. Heavier coats. Better posture.
Competition.
And pressure.
But then Porlyusica pointed—not at them.
At the plant.
The leaves had shifted overnight.
Not opened.
Moved.
"…It's ready," I breathed.
"No," she corrected. "It's changing."
She looked at me then, really looked.
"You have one chance," she said. "To take it right. Not fast.
I swallowed. "And if I mess up?"
"You won't get another."
No pressure.
We didn't fight.
We didn't rush.
When the moment came, it was quiet.
Snow fell thicker. Wind picked up just enough. The searchers argued below, distracted.
Porlyusica moved first, cutting clean, precise.
I followed, hands steady, leg screaming but holding.
The moment the plant came free, heat rushed up my arms—sharp, wild—
—and I stopped it.
Let it fade.
Let my body breathe.
Porlyusica's eyes widened just a fraction.
"…Good," she said.
We were gone before anyone noticed.
That night, by a weak fire, she finally spoke what had been hanging between us.
"You're learning the one thing most mages never do," she said.
"What's that?" I asked.
She tossed another branch onto the fire.
"When not to act."
I stared at the flames.
"…Does that mean I'm getting stronger?"
She huffed. "It means you're surviving."
I smiled tiredly. "I'll take it."
Far below, voices echoed again—angry this time.
Too late.
Winter had chosen a side.
—it wasn't theirs.