The sun, as if mocking her, pierced through the tattered shroud of the heavens. Its frigid light bled over the ruins of the old windmill where Violetta awoke. The wind howled overhead like a starving wolf, forcing its way through every crack and splinter. The cold was more than a sensation—it was invasive, a malicious force, as relentless as the death crouching at her back.
An old cat slept peacefully against her chest. His body barely stirred; only a faint twitch of his whiskers suggested he was still among the living. His fur was dull, matted, and mangy, yet a sliver of warmth still flickered within his frail, ancient frame. Violetta did not dare move, fearing she might shatter his fragile peace.
“Status: Conscious. Stable. Ambient temperature: minus 39.8 degrees Celsius,” the Sphere’s voice vibrated. Calm, neutral, and irritably detached. “Warning: The biological specimen on your thoracic cavity is in a critical physiological state. Projected time of expiration: within 48 hours.”
Violetta felt a weight press down on her chest. Inside, she felt frozen, but every such notification was a new shard of ice driven into her heart.
“Everything dies...” she whispered. “Everything I touch dies.”
She silently wrapped the cat in a scrap of old burlap. Handling him like a holy relic, she stepped outside. The snow crunched under her boots like dry bone. The sun rose higher, scattering icy shadows, but it offered no warmth. The air was thick and crystalline, like glass on the verge of shattering.
I have to keep moving...
? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?
As the sun began its slow descent, Violetta stood at the riverbank. The water was narrow but swift, surging from the mountain slopes and trapped beneath a thin glaze of ice.
“Warning: Probability of ice fracture—76%. Alternative route recommended.”
Violetta surveyed her surroundings: behind her lay a white, lethal wasteland; across the water—the forest. She looked down at the barely-breathing cat.
“There is no other way. If I don't find warmth and sustenance, Nyavchik is finished...” She took her rucksack in her right hand and the cat in her left. “There, in the trees, there will be shelter. Wood. Fire. I have to go...”
She crossed the river with her gaze first, then took a step. The ice groaned like old joints. Another step. Then one more. She moved with bated breath, as if walking along the edge of a blade.
“Oh!—”
She had no time to react. The ice betrayed her, snapping beneath her weight. Plunging into glacial water is a nightmare where breath is forbidden. She felt no pain—only shock. Everything within her constricted into a singular, agonizing knot. As she fell, her reflexes took over; she hurled the rucksack and the cat toward the far bank. Then the water swallowed her like the maw of a predator.
The world vanished into flashes—bright, brief flickers of memory before the end. Marunya’s smile. Todyr’s warm hands. Her mother’s final look. And then—silence. Emptiness. She let go.
But death did not claim her.
A notification strobed across her vision:
[SYSTEM ALERT: CRITICAL BIOLOGICAL STATE]
Priority: ORGANISM PRESERVATION
Protocol: EXTREMIS-VI-1 — ACTIVATED —
Homeostasis Limits: — DISABLED —
Respiratory Simulation: — SUSPENDED —
Thermal Receptors: — DEACTIVATED —
Pain Signaling: — MINIMIZED —
Thermogenesis: — EMERGENCY MODE —
Metabolism: — OPTIMIZED —
Cognition: — INTEGRITY MAINTAINED —
Psycho-Emotional Barrier: — ACTIVATED —
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
[Survival Projection: VIABLE. Visualizing nearest evacuation point.]
Everything shifted. Her exhaustion evaporated; she no longer needed to breathe. The cold ceased to be an enemy. Her entire frame was shot through with a strange, blurred heat—not physical, but electric. Her Visor flared, red tactical lines mapping a path to the shore. She swam with mechanical precision, punched through the ice, and hauled herself onto the bank. The Sphere, circling above, descended.
“Attention: Immediate change of saturated garments required.” Action Sequence:
Remove all wet clothing immediately.
Expel moisture (wring out).
Locate or construct shelter.
In the absence of fire: utilize physical exertion to maintain core temperature. Critical: Avoid secondary hypothermia at all costs. From frostbite to expiration is but a single step.
With trembling fingers, Violetta stripped, wringing the icy water from her clothes. Her muscles shook, but they obeyed. She wrapped herself in the burlap sack, donned her partially dried rags, and pressed on. The cold was returning—slowly, but with certainty. Every step was agony. Retrieving her cat and pack, she bolted for the forest. The frost trailed her like a hungry shadow. An alarm rang incessantly in her mind.
She stopped, pressing Nyavchik to her chest. Her Visor pulsed with a red line leading deeper into the woods. But something inside her screamed:
I am not human! I am a machine built for survival, not for life!
The memory of Lukiya’s soft voice singing lullabies cut like a knife. How could she, fashioned from unknown materials and energy, feel this specific ache? Protocol EXTREMIS had saved her life, but it had stolen something deeper—her sense of self. She looked at Nyavchik; his weak breath was the only thing keeping her from the abyss.
If I save him, she thought, maybe I have a chance to not lose myself entirely...
Precious minutes bled away. No shelter in sight. Then, she stopped.
“Stupid. I’m an idiot. I keep relying on my own strength... and I forgot about magic.”
She thrust her hands forward. Energy began to coalesce, sluggish as if moving through slush. At first, it failed. She gnashed her teeth, feeling mana battle the frost in her veins. The Sphere hovered close, its cerulean light reflecting off the snow.
“Warning: Magical concentration degrading due to hypothermia. Recommend stabilizing core temperature.”
Violetta ignored it, focusing. Her Visor flickered, catching a faint violet shimmer on the horizon—an echo of the wyvern’s crystals.
The Plague? The thought flashed and was discarded.
The earth shuddered. From beneath the snow, metal began to rise—cold, gleaming, obedient to her will. It took the shape of the image in her mind: a triangular pyramid of steel with a side aperture. A space within. A vent above. In the center, a smaller pyramid—a stove with an exhaust pipe.
“Need wood...”
She stepped back out, approaching a tree. A single strike, and the wood splintered. Her fingers felt no pain. She snapped branches like dry tinder. Each one fell into the snow with a dull thud. She remembered the oak where her family was buried, and her heart constricted.
Why couldn't I save them? she thought, dragging the fuel to her pyramid.
But there was no time for grief. Nyavchik needed heat. Once back inside, she struck a flame.
“Finally... warmth...”
Violetta sat within the iron pyramid, swaddled in rags, watching the dance of the fire. Once she had thawed, she laid her clothes out to dry. She wrapped the cat in a warm cloth and placed him nearby. Finding the last portion of nutrient paste in her pack, she tore it open.
“Ugh. Repulsive... but at least it's fuel.”
She offered some to the cat, but he didn't even sniff it.
“Eat... please...”
The cat remained motionless, watching her with one tired, clouded eye. She pulled him close. His weak purr was barely audible, like the final notes of a fading song. Her fingers shook as she stroked his matted fur. She remembered Lukiya stroking her hair when she cried after the villagers' taunts.
“You aren't a monster,” her mother had said. “You are our treasure.”
Was Nyavchik someone’s treasure once? Did he have a home? Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to breathe.
I won't let you die, she thought, though she knew it was a lie.
I can try... She reached for the magic that had once saved a boy in her village. She focused, summoning mana. White threads of light flared in her palms, soft as moonlight, gently enveloping the cat. She whispered words rising from the depths of her being—a healing incantation learned from Lukiya. But the cat only shuddered; his eye remained glazed.
The Sphere hummed, glowing blue. Its voice was cold, precise:
“Scan complete. Subject status: Critical. Chronic infection, exhaustion, senility. Magical energy has negligible effect due to tissue degradation and systemic biological failure. Forecast: Death is inevitable within 12 to 16 hours.”
Violetta’s fist clenched. Her mana sputtered out.
Is there really nothing I can do?!
Suddenly, she remembered the [NANOMEDICAL AMPULE]—the small metallic capsule that promised regeneration. Her fingers scrambled through the rucksack. It glinted in the firelight, a tempting spark of hope.
“Sphere, what if I use this?” her voice trembled.
The Sphere flickered, analyzing. “The Nanomedical Ampule is designed for Ascari-class bio-constructs or human organisms with a body mass exceeding 30 kilograms. For a specimen weighing 2.3 kilograms, the nanomachine dosage will be toxic. Probability of lethal outcome: 99%. Recommendation: Withhold application.”
Violetta squeezed the ampule in her palm, her eyes stinging.
Even this is useless...
She looked at Nyavchik. His breathing was a ghost of a movement. Her heart felt as if another piece had been torn away.
“I’m sorry, Nyavchik,” she whispered, pulling him against her.
The fire danced in the stove, crackling playfully—the last hope in a vast desert of death. Her eyes drifted shut. For the first time in days, it wasn't because of pain, but because of the warmth.
Allowing herself, for just a moment, to be alive, she held the cat tight. A single tear traced a path down her cheek.
? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?