When I woke again, the cold had gotten deeper.
Not louder, not sharper—just deeper. Like it had crawled inside my bones and taken root there.
My body wouldn't stop shaking. My stomach clenched like it was trying to eat itself, and my limbs were too stiff to move without pain. I blinked up at the gray sky beyond the rocks overhead and remembered where I was.
What I was.
Alone.
Wounded.
Starving.
And still only halfway up this gods-cursed mountain.
I shifted, groaning as I rolled to my side. The cauterized gashes on my back had dried stiff against my coat. I peeled the fabric away slowly, biting back a snarl as the pain lanced up my spine.
Still bleeding. Not actively. But enough to remind me I wasn't exactly winning this rite of passage.
And worse—I had no food.
No pack. No cooked meat. No potions. I hadn't eaten in two days, not since a few scraps of dried rabbit after the Direwolf attack. If I didn't find something soon, the mountain wouldn't need monsters to kill me.
I forced myself to my feet.
Every part of my body protested.
But I moved anyway.
—
The wind howled louder the further I walked, curling through the jagged ridges above me. The cliffs rose like frozen jaws in every direction, white snow laced with black rock.
I didn't have a destination. Just a need.
I scanned every crevice and crack for movement—rabbits, birds, anything. But the higher I climbed, the less life there was. Even the wind seemed to avoid this place.
And that's when I saw it.
Just ahead, tucked beneath a jagged overhang near the base of a ridge—an opening.
Wide. Low. Half-buried in snow.
A cave.
My heart thudded.
I knew what it was before I reached it.
A den.
The claw marks at the entrance. The bone piles nearby. The cracked antlers frozen in the snow.
A Vetrbjorn lived here.
Or had.
My throat went dry.
They weren't supposed to be down here.
They were supposed to wait at the peak—to be the final test, the tribute to Odin.
So why was one living halfway up the mountain?
A bad omen?
I didn't have time to think about it.
Either it was gone… or I was about to die trying to steal its dinner.
I ducked low and crept inside.
—
The temperature dropped instantly.
This wasn't normal cold. This was something deeper—magic-infused, thick, like walking into the breath of a frozen god.
The walls of the cave shimmered with frost. Ice crystals clung to the ceiling like teeth. The air was heavy with rot and something sour—blood long-frozen, meat half-preserved.
The deeper I went, the more I saw.
Bones. Scraps. Half-eaten carcasses preserved in icy piles. A mountain goat, curled like it had died mid-run. A Direwolf skull. Bits of fur.
I didn't speak. Didn't breathe too loud.
I moved slowly.
Carefully.
And there—near the back—was a blessing in the form of old meat.
Frozen solid. Half buried beneath snow and hide.
Still good.
Still edible.
I didn't ask how I knew. I just knew.
I pulled my dagger and started carving.
The meat came free in chunks, tough but clean. I wrapped it in a bit of loose fur I found near the entrance and bolted out as fast as my legs could carry me.
The wind hit my face like freedom.
I didn't stop moving until I found a narrow rock shelf halfway up the next ridge—a little nook shielded from above by a twisted pine tree and walled off on one side by a jutting slab of ice.
Safe enough.
I collapsed there, gasping, and started chewing through the first frozen piece of meat.
It was like eating bark.
But it was food.
My body wept in relief.
I ate slowly. Cautiously. Just enough to stop the shaking in my arms. Then I curled up in the corner of the shelf, covering myself with one of the mangled wolf pelts I'd salvaged earlier.
The weight of exhaustion finally caught up to me.
And this time, there were no dreams.
Just darkness.
—
I woke later that day—late afternoon, maybe—feeling stronger. Not healed. Not whole. But better.
My back still throbbed, but the bleeding had stopped. My hands were steady again. I stood slowly, stretched carefully, and looked toward the final climb.
There it was.
A ridge, narrow and steep, climbing like a frozen staircase toward the summit.
I could see the ledge at the top. Just barely.
I took a breath.
Time to finish this.
—
The climb wasn't easy.
The snow was deeper here, more jagged. The handholds were frozen solid, and I had to carve my way up using the daggers more than once just to find grip.
The wind was sharp now—not wild, but cold in a deliberate way. Like it was watching. Waiting.
I didn't like it.
Didn't like how quiet it was.
No birds.
No wolves.
Not even the distant howl of something large.
Just wind and stone.
It made every footstep feel like a warning.
Still—I climbed.
For hours.
—
By the time I reached the final ledge, my breath came ragged and shallow. My muscles ached. My boots were soaked through.
But I made it.
I pulled myself up over the edge, hand digging into frostbitten stone, and collapsed onto the summit.
The sky above was gray. Clouded. Snow whipped across the open plateau like smoke curling over a battlefield.
And there—dead center—
A shape.
Huge. Still.
I blinked snow out of my eyes and forced myself upright.
The first thing I saw was fur.
White. Thick. Blood-soaked.
A Vetrbjorn.
Crushed.
Its body had been shattered—ribs broken, spine twisted. One of its limbs had been torn off completely. Its head was bent at an unnatural angle, ice fangs shattered, tongue blackened.
It wasn't just dead.
It had been obliterated.
Not by another beast.
By something stronger.
My stomach dropped.
I stepped forward cautiously, boots crunching in the snow.
And that's when I saw him.
Or it.
At the far edge of the summit, standing motionless.
Back turned.
Massive.
Seven meters tall, maybe more.
Pale gray skin like stone. Long white hair trailing down its back. Heavy layered furs draped over its shoulders. And on its back—an enormous hammer, jagged and rimmed with ice.
It didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Just stood there, looking out over the edge of the world.
I didn't speak.
Didn't call out.
Something inside me went cold.
Colder than the wind.
Instinct screamed at me to run.
But I didn't move.
I just stood there.
Frozen.
Watching.
The creature's head shifted—barely. Just enough to glance over its shoulder.
I saw a single eye.
Blue. Glowing. Lifeless.
Like it wasn't looking at me at all.
Just… through me.
I couldn't breathe.
My daggers pulsed faintly at my sides.
And then—
The hammer creaked.
A sound low and distant, like ice cracking in the deep.
My heart skipped.
Darkness curled across the summit as the clouds rolled overhead.
And I knew—
This wasn't the end.
This was the beginning.