On my way back to the cave, I came across the mangled corpse again. I carefully positioned its limbs back into place and gently placed its organs back inside before burying it. There was something about the act—about giving the dead some semblance of dignity—that felt necessary. Perhaps it was my way of keeping my humanity in check, or maybe it was something deeper, a need to respect life even after it had ended.
Once I made it back to the cave, I grabbed the wolf pelts I had spent the last few days fleshing out. I also managed to disassemble the tanning rack and brought it over to the house. After that, I returned for my clay bowls and the pine cones I had gathered over the past few days. I checked the traps one final time, not sure why, but each trap had caught a rabbit. That meant I had three rabbits. I returned once more to gather the preserved wolf bones and meat. The last pieces of my preparation were coming together, and there was something satisfying about that. In a world like this, control was everything, and I was starting to reclaim a small bit of it.
The house I was moving into wasn't much—there wasn't any furniture or shelves, just a large open space with a battered wood stove. The house measured about 25 feet deep and 20 feet long, with a ceiling that was 20 feet at its tallest point. It wasn't much, but it was more than the cave had ever offered. This place was... bigger. It wasn't ideal, but it was mine. The snow outside still clung to the windows like the cold, silent sentinels of the forest, but inside, I was beginning to carve out something that felt like a home.
Outside, around to the left side of the house, I set up the tanning rack. It consisted of two sticks in the ground, with strange strands of twine strung between them, adorned with wolf teeth. I knew it was a simple setup, but it was effective. The teeth dangled like grim trophies in the cold air, a reminder of the wolves I had fought and survived. A reminder of my growing place in this harsh, unforgiving world.
Once the tanning rack was set up, I headed to the nearby pine trees to collect needles. I planned to make a bed similar to the one I had crafted back in the cave, using pine needles. After gathering a sufficient amount, I returned to the house and began laying them out. I then spread one of the recently defleshed wolf pelts over the pine needles. I lay down and stretched on my new "bed," and to my surprise, it was actually quite comfortable. The smell of pine mixed with the warmth of the wolf pelt, and for a moment, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relax. It was the first time in what felt like forever that I felt... at peace. The weight of survival, of constant vigilance, seemed to lift just slightly, and in its place, a semblance of comfort bloomed.
As I rested, it felt oddly familiar, like something close to home. Everything might not be as I wanted, but it was livable. All I needed was a place to survive, and this would do. This was something I could work with. The warmth from the wood stove, the makeshift bed I had created, the silence of the night broken only by the crackling of the fire—this was mine. For the first time since I woke up in this realm, it was mine.
Just as I was settling in, a blue light suddenly flickered above me. It wasn't a blinding light, but enough to make me squint. Then, I saw a small piece of paper materialize in the glow before it drifted to the ground. It was a letter, and the wax seal on the envelope was stamped with the initials "RD."
I hesitated for a moment before carefully picking up the envelope. The seal was smooth, unbroken, a sign of its importance. I opened it, making sure not to break the wax seal, and read the contents:
"Congratulations, Ivan! You have survived in the prison realm for one month. As a reward, we grant you one question that we will answer with complete honesty.
Additionally, you will receive 10 coins that you can trade with the merchants in this realm. A merchant should be in your area within 2 to 5 days.
We will grant you another reward if you manage to kill the Wendigo.
Thank you for reading,
RD."
At the bottom of the letter, there was a space for a response—a small area, just enough to write one or two sentences. The prompt above read, "We will answer any question that is written here." I spent a few months thinking about what to ask, knowing I had plenty of questions.
Why am I here? What crime did I commit to end up in this place? Does magic exist? Are there more monsters than just that one? What's the Wendigo curse? Why do I not feel as cold as I normally would? My biggest question, though, was—did I die in the hospital room?
I carefully wrote down, Did I die in the hospital room? The ink from my quill lingered for a moment, as if waiting for the answer to come. Moments later, I felt warmth radiating from the back of the letter. I flipped it over, and there was a response.
"Yes, Ivan Miller did die in the hospital room. Somehow, your soul managed to cross over to a different realm. A wandering sage used his power to create a body for your soul to inhabit and left you in the snow. He gave you a few items—a pocket knife and a bandage, I believe. When he left, I summoned a letter into your pocket."
After reading this, I took a moment to reflect. If it weren't for that sage, that twist of fate, I would have been gone. The weight of it all—how close I had come to oblivion, how fragile this existence was—settled in. I wondered if my death had been the end of me. Had it been just an accident, or was there something more to it? In that time between my death and awakening, there was nothing—just Oblivion. Was there really nothing after death? The more I thought about it, the more I felt that I might never truly know.
But no time to dwell on that. There were more pressing matters. The Wendigo. A creature whose very name struck fear in the hearts of those who knew of it. And now, I had been tasked with its death. I didn't know what would await me when I finally crossed paths with it, but I knew I had no choice. This was my reality now. This was my fight. There were no guarantees, no safety nets—just me and whatever monsters this world had to throw at me.
I stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the snow. It was quiet out there, but I knew better than to think it would stay that way. The Wendigo was out there somewhere, and I had to find it. But before I did, I needed to make sure I was ready.
I turned back toward the house and started preparing. The fire crackled behind me as I went to work. The Wendigo wouldn't know what hit it.