Jake left Eric's forest just after dawn. His steps were light, controlled, and quiet against the pine-blanketed ground. The bracelet Eric had given him sat snug around his wrist, pulsing faintly when he focused on it. It wasn't magic in the flashy sense. It was something deeper—a rhythm he could tune into, even when his heart threatened to race.
His route back toward the village took him around the base of the same range where he and the hunters had faced the Frostmaw. The sky was overcast, grey with thick clouds promising another dusting of snow. The mountain seemed taller now, more watchful, and Jake couldn't shake the sense that something was waiting in its silence.
He pressed on.
Around midday, a light snow began to fall, slow and quiet like ash from an unseen fire. The trees thinned. The wind picked up. The silence deepened.
Jake was halfway down a narrow ridgeline when the forest stopped breathing.
He felt it before he heard it—just like Eric had taught him. A shift in the rhythm. The birds went still. The wind hesitated.
Then a low, rasping growl rolled across the snow like thunder through gravel.
Jake dropped to a crouch. His heart beat in his throat.
Emerging from behind a slope of ice and stone came a hulking form—white fur streaked with old scars and blood. A second Frostmaw.
This one was bigger than the last.
Its eyes locked on Jake, and its lips curled back to reveal yellowed fangs longer than his forearm.
Jake bolted.
He moved like wind over rock, barely touching the earth. Every step was chosen, deliberate. But the Frostmaw was faster than he expected, and smarter.
It looped around him, herding him toward a cliff edge.
Jake skidded to a stop, breathing hard, snow swirling around him like ash.
He turned. The beast padded into view, slow, certain. It was not rushing. It was hunting. Stalking.
Jake reached inside himself, closed his eyes for just a moment.
Feel the world. Not your fear.
He slid a foot back and crouched into a low stance, one he'd used when sparring with his dad years ago. The ground beneath him hummed softly.
The Frostmaw lunged.
Jake dove sideways, rolled, and slashed out with a hunting knife he'd taken from the village. The blade barely cut through its thick fur, but it bought him space.
The beast turned on him again, its tail sweeping wide—Jake ducked too slow.
He was slammed sideways, crashing into a snow-laced tree with enough force to knock the wind from him. His ribs screamed. Something might be cracked.
He forced himself up. Focus. He pressed a hand to the bracelet.
The forest pulsed—faint light dancing just beneath the surface of everything.
He exhaled and fell still.
The Frostmaw charged again—but this time, Jake didn't retreat. He stepped into the charge, then slid under it, using the beast's own momentum to avoid the brunt of the attack. He jabbed his blade into its thigh and rolled free.
Blood stained the snow. Not enough to kill—but it made the Frostmaw cautious.
The creature circled.
Jake circled too, matching its pace. He could feel it watching him—testing him.
Suddenly it roared, throwing its massive body forward with reckless power.
Jake threw up his arm and focused, letting the flow wrap around his muscles.
The world slowed—just for a second.
He twisted. The swipe missed by inches.
Then he leapt, using his enhanced strength to grab a broken branch from a tree. He landed behind the beast, swung hard, and cracked the branch across its wounded leg.
The Frostmaw howled, falling to one knee.
Jake didn't wait. He moved in, driving the hunting knife deep into its shoulder, twisting. The Frostmaw roared again, slamming into him blindly. He was thrown back hard into the snow.
The world tilted. Everything ached. His vision blurred.
Then—silence.
The beast was breathing hard. Bleeding. Staggering.
Jake forced himself up. Every part of his body screamed in protest. But he moved.
With one final effort, he launched himself forward, using the last burst of strength and focus the forest had given him. He plunged the knife into the creature's neck—just beneath its jaw, where the fur was thin and soft.
Blood sprayed.
The Frostmaw thrashed—and then fell still.
Jake collapsed beside it.
It was nearly dark by the time he gathered the strength to move again. He didn't take the whole pelt—just a large piece as proof and a keepsake. His ribs burned with every step, and his cloak was shredded.
But he was alive.
He made camp in the shadow of a frozen boulder, started a fire with shaking hands, and finally allowed himself to feel the weight of it.
He had survived. Not just by skill or luck.
But by listening.
As he lay beside the fire, he glanced at the bracelet. The bark was still whole, still warm.
Jake let the flames lull him, the heat lapping at his bruised skin, and for the first time since crossing into this world, he whispered aloud.
"Thank you, Dad."