A week passed.
The soreness from the first few nights in the cold had faded. His movements were smoother now, less cautious. Even his breathing felt more natural in the freezing air.
He walked steadily across the snowy plains, boots crunching softly with every step.
If someone had asked him a week ago how he thought he'd handle being stranded in the middle of nowhere, in another world no less, he probably would've assumed he'd panic. Or break down.
But yet that didn't happen.
Instead, he'd been busy.
The first couple of days had gone into figuring out the basics—where to sleep, how to avoid exposure, how to find food consistently. Lyon's memories handled most of that. His body already knew how to move through snow without wasting energy, how to read the wind, how to spot animal tracks half-buried beneath fresh snowfall.
Feels kind of weird relying on memories that aren't really mine, he thought. But I guess if it works, it works.
He'd learned quickly that overthinking that part didn't help.
Survival became routine faster than he expected. Set up a temporary shelter. Gather firewood. Hunt when needed. Move on before resources ran thin. The rhythm was simple, almost calming.
And so far the most enjoyable part of his day, had been whenever he was experimenting with his magic.
Whenever he had downtime—waiting for food to cook, resting after a long walk, sheltering from strong winds—he practiced.
Not large spells. Just small ones.
A thin layer of ice forming over his palm. Changing its texture. Making it brittle, then dense. Letting it melt slightly, then freezing it again.
Ice magic really is flexible, he thought. People usually just freeze things and think nothing else, but there's way more going on.
He could feel the difference when he focused on how heat moved instead of just forcing cold outward. It was subtle, but noticeable. Ice formed more cleanly. Mana use dropped slightly.
It was… interesting.
That was the best word for it.
Instead of feeling stressed or pressured to improve, he felt curious. Like studying, but without the looming threat of a test.
Guess this is what happens when you learn for yourself instead of grades.
As he walked, his thoughts drifted naturally between practical concerns and idle reflection. He wasn't in a rush. There was no destination in mind yet—just forward.
Despite everything, his mood stayed light.
He wasn't cheerful exactly, but he wasn't weighed down either. Even thinking about his old life didn't crush him the way he expected it to.
The sadness came in waves. Quiet ones.
I still miss them, he thought. That will never change.
But he didn't let it stop him.
There wasn't much point in being miserable all the time. This was his life now, whether it made sense or not.
As the terrain shifted slightly, the snow thinning in places to reveal cracked stone beneath, something caught his attention.
Straight lines.
He slowed.
Ahead, half-buried under snowdrifts, were the remains of stone walls. Broken foundations. Collapsed roofs barely poking through the white.
"…Buildings?"
He approached carefully.
As he got closer, the details became clearer. This wasn't a single structure. It was a cluster—houses, maybe a small square. Or what used to be one.
A village.
Lyon stepped between two crumbled walls, boots scraping against frozen rubble. The air felt heavier here. Still cold, but… wrong.
He crouched and brushed snow away from the ground.
Deep scratches marred the stone beneath.
There's no way a storm could have caused this. Right?
He stood, scanning the area more carefully now. Several walls had been torn apart rather than collapsed naturally. Some stones looked scorched. Others were frozen solid, then shattered from force.
"…What happened here?"
There were no bodies in sight. That was the first thing he noticed. No blood, no remains. Just destruction.
He walked deeper into the ruins, steps quiet out of habit. His hand rested loosely at his side, mana circulating calmly.
The place felt abandoned.
Then suddenly, he heard it.
A scream.
Lyon turned instantly, moving his head in the direction of the sound. He started running, moving between broken structures and snowbanks with ease.
The source came into view quickly.
A small group of villagers—men, women, children —were clustered together near what might have once been a storage building. Their faces were pale with fear.
Circling them were several large beasts.
Frost wolves.
Their fur was thick and pale blue, almost blending into the snow. Ice clung naturally to their claws and fangs, their eyes sharp and focused.
The wolves growled low, muscles tensing.
One leapt.
Lyon didn't hesitate.
He raised his hand.
Ice formed in midair—clean, narrow shapes, elongated and sharp.
The spears launched forward.
They struck before the wolves could adjust, piercing through fur and muscle, pinning them to the frozen ground. The impact was swift and decisive.
The remaining wolves skidded to a halt, startled.
Lyon flicked his wrist.
Two more spears formed and fired.
The last wolves fell.
Silence returned to the area.
Lyon lowered his hand slowly, letting his mana settle. He took a breath, then approached the villagers.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
His voice sounded calm layered with concern.
The villagers stared at him, shock written clearly on their faces. After a moment, one of the men nodded repeatedly.
"Yes—yes, we are. Thank you. Thank you so much."
Others chimed in, voices overlapping in gratitude and relief.
Lyon waited until they'd calmed down a bit before speaking again. He glanced around the destoryed village.
"…Can I ask what happened to this place?"
The mood shifted instantly.
The villagers exchanged looks. Some looked away. Others clenched their hands.
A woman stepped forward hesitantly.
"It was because of the demon," she said quietly. "Deliora."
Lyon froze for just a moment.
Deliora…
The name settled heavily in his chest.
So this was one of the last villages it was able to destroy before it was sealed.
Before he could dwell on it, the woman continued. Her voice trembled.
"It destroyed everything. Our homes… our families…"
Her composure broke. Tears spilled freely, and soon others joined her. Grief filled the space between the ruined buildings, raw and unfiltered.
Lyon said nothing.
He stood there, listening.
When the crying finally began to fade, he spoke again, gently.
"…What are you planning to do now?"
The villagers looked at him blankly.
"You can't stay here," he said. "Living like this, in the open… it's too dangerous."
One of the men snapped.
"Then what are we supposed to do?!" he shouted.
The words echoed sharply.
Lyon fell silent.
He thought for a moment, gaze steady.
Then he spoke.
"Find somewhere else to live."
They stared at him.
"You're alive," he continued. "And you should appreciate that. Don't let what the demon did, prevent you from continuing to move forward with your lives."
Some looked conflicted. Others shook their heads.
"But the monsters," someone whispered. "We can't protect ourselves…"
Lyon straightened slightly.
"Then I'll protect you."
The words were firm, spoken without hesitation.
"As long as I'm around, I won't let anything happen to you."
The villagers stared at him, stunned.
He extended his hand.
"So," he said calmly, "do you want to take a chance on the lives you were spared of?"
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then the same woman from before stepped forward. Tears streamed down her face as she took his hand.
"…We will," she said, voice trembling but sincere. "We'll trust you."
Others followed, bowing deeply, crying openly.
Lyon scratched his cheek awkwardly.
"…You don't have to bow."
Still, he smiled gently.