? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?
The wind faintly stirred the frozen boughs, drifting fine powder into her shelter. This time, however, Violetta awoke not from the cold, but from the silence. A terrifying, ringing silence that thickened the air like the calm before a slaughter.
Her hand reached for the spot where Nyavchik had curled up the night before. It was empty. She opened her eyes slowly, as if fearing the world had vanished. And in a way, it had.
Nyavchik lay in the corner, shrouded in a scrap of old blanket. His body was stiff, his fur rimed with frost, and his eye—a glassy marble, devoid of that flickering, purring warmth. He was no longer breathing.
Violetta stared at him for a long time, feeling nothing but a vast vacancy, like the sensation in a dream when one falls into an abyss and cannot stop. She did not cry. She simply rose, wrapped his body completely in the fabric, and stepped out into the world. The Sphere remained silent. Even the machine understood—words were redundant here.
Near the shelter, Violetta dug a small pit. The earth was hard as flint, but she warmed it with her palms, melting the snow until she reached the soil. As Nyavchik’s body was lowered into the earth, she hesitated—she wanted to say something, but no word seemed worthy. Finally, she whispered:
“Forgive me for not being able to protect you...”
As the grave was filled, the wind finally died down. Great white flakes began to spiral from the sky, circling before settling on the dark patch of earth where a solitary girl stood. The snow melted on her skin, tracing tracks like the tears she refused to shed. Violetta looked at her palm, where the dirt still clung.
Even with a body crafted by gods and the power of healing magic... can I not save even one tiny life?
? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?
The Sphere spoke only the following morning. Its voice was soft, cautious, as if afraid to shatter the stillness.
“RESOURCE DEFICIT: SUSTENANCE RESERVES CRITICAL.” “RECOMMENDATION: INITIATE HUNTING PROTOCOL.” “POTENTIAL VECTORS (SEASONAL ADAPTATION):
Traps for small avian/mammalian life.
Matter manipulation for the creation of melee or ranged armaments.”
Violetta sighed and nodded. “Let’s start simple. Show me how to build a trap.”
The following days were spent learning to read the snow. Tracks, snapped twigs, tufts of fur on bark—everything held data. She improved with cold, steady precision. The first hare she caught was small, barely a kit. She looked into its eyes, which shimmered like tiny stars against the drift. But hunger is a brutal tutor. In the end, she did what was necessary.
The carcass dissolved in magical flame. The Sphere analyzed the process, its hum dropping to a low frequency:
“CONTROLLED ENERGY LEVELS INCREASED. PREDATORY INSTINCTS ARE FORMING NATURALLY. EFFICIENCY RATING: OPTIMAL.”
“I don’t want to be 'efficient',” Violetta muttered. “I just don’t want to die.”
“IN THIS CONTEXT, THEY ARE IDENTICAL.”
? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?
During a magic training session, Violetta manifested a dagger—thin and nearly translucent. She spun it in her hands, feeling how flawlessly it cleaved the air—silent, without resistance, an extension of her own will.
“EXCELLENT AERODYNAMICS. WOULD YOU LIKE TO ARCHIVE THIS TEMPLATE IN THE ARMORY DATASET?”
“What?”
“ANY OBJECT CREATED OR ENCOUNTERED CAN BE SCANNED. IF NECESSARY, IT CAN BE REPLICATED TO IDEAL SPECIFICATIONS. THIS IS THE ARCHIVE FUNCTION.”
Violetta’s eyes sparked. For a moment, she was a child again, handed a kit with no limitations. From then on, she experimented: a simple knife, a bowl for water, even a replica of the scavenged burlap.
“Sphere, can the shelter be archived too?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“IF THE ARCHITECTURAL INTEGRITY IS STABLE—AFFIRMATIVE.”
“Perfect.”
She set to work. She constructed a new shelter, correcting every flaw of the previous one: reinforced double walls, drainage inclines. She lined the floor with a thermal-insulating layer made from the cloned burlap. She scanned it. Saved it. Labeled it: [SHELTER: VERSION II].
? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?
Twilight crawled over the land, draping the forest in a pale shroud.
The Sphere pulsed a warning: “BIOMETRIC SIGNATURES DETECTED. FIVE OBJECTS. ANOMALOUS ENERGY SIGNATURE.”
“I hear them,” Violetta replied calmly, without looking up. Her ears twitched, catching the faint crunch of snow deep among the trees.
“TYPE: MANA-RESISTANT FAUNA. RECOMMENDATION: EVADE CONTACT OR INITIALIZE DEFENSIVE STANCE,” the Sphere continued, but Violetta was already ready.
The wind brought a long howl, low and guttural, rolling between the trunks. Answers followed from several voices, closer than expected. Only then did Violetta spot the first glints of eyes in the dark. Pairs of blue sparks flared and faded among the drifts.
Five emerged from the mist. Large, lean, with fur the color of fresh snow that shimmered with cerulean sparks—as if the frost itself had come to life. They moved almost soundlessly. Cold vapor exhaled from their maws, and their eyes glowed with a hungry, mana-fueled light.
“Strange wolves...” Violetta whispered, her breath hitching.
“PROBABILITY OF AGGRESSION: HIGH,” the Sphere confirmed. “MANA RESISTANCE: HIGH. PHYSICAL STRIKES RECOMMENDED. TARGET CRITICAL VULNERABILITIES.”
They circled her in a semi-circle, movements fluid like shadows in a blizzard. The first, a smaller wolf, lunged—fast as an arrow, jaws snapping to reveal teeth coated in rime. Violetta felt the movement before the sound reached her. Her body reacted on instinct—a sidestep, a roll, and the translucent blade flashed in her hand. The edge slid beneath the beast’s belly, and as it sailed over her, she unzipped its throat in a dark arc. Blood sprayed the snow—warm, crimson, and instantly freezing into jagged crystals. The wolf collapsed without a sound.
Two others charged in sync. Violetta retreated, the snow crunching under her heels, but the world slowed down. She felt every motion: the tension of muscle, the vector of the strike, the breath that smelled of frost and famine. One coiled to spring—her body pivoted, a needle-spike flashed, burying itself in the smaller one's leg; the crack of bone echoed in the silence. The third—larger, with a scarred muzzle—followed. His eyes burned a deeper blue, almost white. The Alpha. He didn't growl; he simply closed the distance, evaluating the prey.
Violetta lowered her blade and inhaled. Her legs, shoulders, even her tail—everything moved in a rhythm that was no longer human. When he lunged, she met him not with a retreat, but with a step forward—a dance of death in the snow.
The Visor flickered: “ANALYSIS COMPLETE: MUSCULOSKELETAL DENSITY — 38MM. TARGET: HEART, SUB-LEFT RIB. UTILIZE PHYSICAL IMPULSE.”
“Understood!”
The strike was sharp, clinical. The needle drove home like lightning, piercing fur that crunched like ice and sinking into the heart. The wolf whimpered—a low, pained sound—tried to stand, paws slipping on the bloody snow, before collapsing into the drift.
The remaining three stopped. The snarling ceased. Their eyes glinted, but a tremor of fear flickered there—not of a human, but of something greater. When Violetta stood and turned toward them in a combat stance, her mana pulsing like a visible aura, they broke. They vanished into the blizzard with a long, retreating howl.
Violetta stood in the white field, her breathing steady, but exhaustion hit her in a wave. Her muscles trembled. The Sphere whispered:
“THREATS NEUTRALIZED. TWO CASUALTIES. RECOMMEND UTILIZING REMAINS FOR RESOURCE ACQUISITION. HIDE CONTAINS CRYSTALLIZED MANA FIBERS. THERMAL REGULATION POTENTIAL: HIGH. I CAN PROVIDE FLAYING INSTRUCTIONS.”
Violetta nodded, kneeling by the smaller wolf. Its fur was remarkably soft, warm despite the frost.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, touching its muzzle. “I didn't want it to be like this.”
“SURVIVAL IS NOT A CRIME,” the Sphere replied. “YOU ARE MERELY ADAPTING.”
“You say that... like it’s a good thing.”
“IT IS LIFE.”
She set to work following the Sphere’s prompts: a ventral incision, the removal of steaming viscera, the careful peeling of the hide. The fur came away easily, and when Violetta lifted it, she felt a constant, pleasant coolness—like a summer breeze.
“MATERIAL: ICE-HOUND PELT. PROPERTIES: INSULATION, SELF-REGULATING, WATER-RESISTANT. RECOMMENDATION: CONSTRUCT PONCHO/HOOD.”
Violetta nodded, and with a flare of mana, the hide coiled into a cloak—light, elastic, hugging her shoulders. The cold recoiled, as if intimidated.
“CLOAK: VERSION I,” the Sphere added.
She sat by the fire, wrapped in her new mantle, and stared into the dark. The blood on the snow had frozen into crystalline patterns—a reminder of the dance.
They hunted me. But they became my spoils. Perhaps in this world, no one truly lives—everyone just survives until they become prey for another.
? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?
The next morning, she approached Nyavchik’s grave. She sat beside it, speaking to him one last time.
“I’m going now. I’m stronger. But I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing you. Goodbye.”
The snow crunched under her boots as she left her sanctuary. Behind her lay the river and the icy void. Ahead—the forest that offered life.
The Sphere reported: “AMBIENT TEMPERATURE RISING STEADILY. BIOLOGICAL ADAPTATION IN PROGRESS. SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: INCREASED.”
Violetta smiled—for the first time in many days. Perhaps this was progress. Perhaps this was life.
? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?
