The morning sun was pale.
Its faint rays barely pierced the thick clouds above Blizzard Valley. Darwin stepped out of the cave, the cold air slapping his already numb face. Every movement sent a burning pain up his spine—the slash from the Ice Hound had begun to stiffen.
He touched his back gently.
"Gh—!"
Even the light contact made him grit his teeth.
He had no bandages.
No medicine.
No warm clothes except the thin cloak he had received at exile.
The cold seeped into him more and more with every passing minute.
He looked around the snowy landscape.
Quiet.
Empty.
Dead.
It felt like the world itself didn't care whether he lived or died.
Darwin took a shaky breath.
"…I need food."
His stomach twisted painfully, reminding him it had been many hours—maybe a full day—since he last ate. The small loaf of bread he'd been given had been finished earlier, before the Ice Hound even appeared.
He opened the bag.
Empty.
Except for his matchbox and the unused blanket.
The alcohol bottle was half-empty, but useless now.
Darwin breathed out a shuddering sigh.
He didn't have a choice.
He had to walk.
He tightened his cloak and moved slowly through the snow. His left arm hung limply at his side, exhausted from supporting all his weight the entire night. His right shoulder ached from imbalance, as if it resented every step he took.
His footsteps were uneven.
One deep, one shallow.
He dragged slightly to the right.
Even his **walking** exposed his weakness.
The forest was silent except for the crunch of snow under his boots. Darwin scanned the area for movement. A small animal… a bird… anything he could catch.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
Nothing.
Every now and then, the pain in his back flared so sharply he had to stop and breathe through clenched teeth.
"Why… why did I survive yesterday?" he muttered to himself.
Anyone else—any normal child—would've died instantly to a spiritual beast.
So why him?
Why someone with no mana?
No proper training?
No strength?
No arm?
He exhaled, white fog drifting from his lips.
"…Was it really just the storm?"
Or was it the pendant?
His fingers brushed the cold gem resting against his chest. It gave him no warmth. No answer.
Only weight.
A burden he didn't yet understand.
His thoughts spiraled downward the longer he walked.
"If I had been born with two arms… Would my father have looked at me differently?"
"If I had awakened mana… would my mother have smiled at me at least once?"
"If Auria wasn't so perfect… would I still be in that house?"
He stopped walking.
He forced himself to breathe, but every inhale hurt.
"…It shouldn't matter," he whispered.
But it did.
It always did.
Two years ago, when he couldn't awaken mana at age seven, he had seen it clearly—
the disappointment
the whispering
the change in their eyes.
His parents, who were legends…
war heroes…
protectors of the empire…
And then him.
A son they didn't want.
A failure they didn't ask for.
A stain on their reputation.
Darwin fell to his knees.
Not from the pain in his back—
but from the pain in his chest.
"I'm not… worthless…"
He clenched his teeth.
"I'm not…"
But the wind didn't care.
The snow didn't care.
The world didn't care.
A flicker of movement caught his eye—
a small rabbit, its fur blending with the snow, hopped timidly between the bushes.
Darwin stayed perfectly still.
Then—
**He lunged.**
His left hand grabbed the small knife at his waist—a short survival blade given to him without care, barely sharp enough to cut fruit. But he threw himself forward anyway.
The rabbit noticed him and bolted.
Darwin pushed his legs, ignoring the agony.
Ignoring the cold.
Ignoring the imbalance.
He threw himself onto the creature—
*THUMP!*
The rabbit squirmed wildly. Darwin, panting heavily, pinned it down with his knee and brought the knife to its neck.
"I'm sorry—"
His voice was hoarse.
"I can't die… I don't want to die…"
He pressed the blade down.
Warm blood soaked the snow.
His hands trembled violently afterward.
He hadn't killed anything before.
He stared at his shaking fingers.
"…I have to eat," he whispered, even as guilt twisted in his stomach.
He picked the rabbit up, tears stinging his eyes—not from sadness alone, but from everything.
The pain.
The cold.
The loneliness.
The fear.
The bleeding.
The memory.
The uncertainty.
Everything pressed onto him at once.
He turned around to head back toward the cave—
And froze.
A low growl rolled across the snow.
Darwin's breath caught in his throat.
Between the trees, two glowing red eyes stared at him.
The Ice Hound.
It had found him again.
His blood…
His footsteps…
His weakness…
It had tracked him.
Darwin's heart pounded violently.
"No… not again… please…"
The beast stepped out from behind the trees, its massive paws sinking into the snow. Its fur glistened with frost. Steam rose from its fangs as its cold breath hit the air.
It lowered its body—
ready to pounce.
Darwin tightened his grip on the knife.
His left hand shook.
He couldn't run.
His legs were trembling.
His back was bleeding.
His stamina was gone.
There was a cliff on one side.
Thick forest on the other.
No escape.
His body froze—
And for a moment, he wanted to give up.
A soft whisper escaped his trembling lips:
"Grandpa… help me…"
But only the beast answered.
The Ice Hound lunged.
And everything erupted into chaos.
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