I woke without a sound.
No shivering. No pain. No pounding in my skull or frostbitten limbs. I lay at the bottom of a drained stone well, staring up at a dim circle of light far above me.
Alive.
Somehow.
I blinked slowly. My heart wasn't racing. My skin wasn't cold. I took a breath, deep and even—no ache in my ribs, no searing in my spine. My wounds… they were gone.
I pushed myself up, half-expecting something to snap. But my body moved like a forged blade—clean, strong, fluid. The pain I'd known since the summit was… gone. Not dulled. Erased.
That's when I noticed the runes.
Black, pulsing faintly beneath my skin. They spiraled across my chest, arms, and neck—like someone had carved fate itself into my flesh. They weren't burning, or aching… but they were alive. I could feel them humming under the surface like they were breathing with me. Like they were mine.
I traced a line of them along my forearm, watching the way they flickered with my pulse. My body felt… foreign. Not wrong. Just different. Like it remembered something I hadn't lived yet.
I stood.
No stumble. No soreness. Just power—coiled and humming, waiting to be used.
"What… happened to me?"
I looked around. The cavern was empty. No fire. No voices. Just rock and silence and the distant drip of water.
But I remembered them—the voices. The Sisters. Laughter and whispers. The scent of silk and something older. I remembered being carried. Drowned in that glowing pool. And now…
Nothing but echoes.
Above, the stone walls of the well reached high into the dark. I crouched and leapt, catching an edge with my fingers.
My hand punched straight into the ice.
I paused, blinking. Then did it again—my hand sunk into the frozen wall like it was loose clay. No—like my fingers had simply forced the stone aside.
I climbed.
Hand over hand, with a speed and strength I couldn't explain. My bare feet gripped the frozen stone. My arms flexed without trembling. I moved like I'd been climbing all my life. Like I was born for this.
At the top of the shaft, the air shifted.
I reached the edge and froze.
Two massive shapes were pacing near the cave mouth, thick clouds of breath puffing from their snouts. White fur shimmered in the low light, and fangs like icepicks glinted between dripping jaws.
Vetrbjorn.
My stomach clenched.
They hadn't noticed me yet.
I pulled myself up slowly, keeping low, eyes flicking between them. My weapons—gone. My pack—lost. Just me.
And whatever this new body was.
The first bear growled.
The second turned, sniffed the air.
Then they both charged.
Time slowed.
My eyes flashed.
A flicker—two seconds into the future. One would leap. The other would swipe wide. My muscles moved before thought caught up. I ducked and twisted between them, boots sliding across snow and ice.
They crashed into each other, snarling, before spinning to follow.
The left one struck first. A wide claw arced for my ribs—I ducked low, the wind of it grazing my hair, and drove a punch into its gut. It was like hitting a wall. Pain sparked up my knuckles.
The other lunged from behind.
Too fast.
Its claw slammed into my back, sending me tumbling forward across the snow. I coughed, tasted blood—but I pushed up fast, barely registering the blow.
This body could take it.
But not forever.
I backed away slowly, keeping them in view. They circled, spreading out.
This wasn't like the first time I fought. No spirit, no blades, no plan.
Just instinct.
I narrowed my eyes. Flickers of motion filled my vision—glimpses of the next moments. Their legs tensing. The twitch before a charge.
I exhaled.
The left one came first again.
I sidestepped, slammed my elbow into its neck, and followed with a spin-kick that sent it staggering sideways. The second one lunged, jaws open—I ducked and slammed my palm under its chin, sending its head snapping back.
A second later, its paw swiped blindly—caught my ribs. I flew again, rolling through the snow.
"Okay…" I gasped, stumbling to my feet. "Not invincible."
But close.
They came again, this time together. I weaved between them like smoke, striking where I could. My fists crushed cartilage. My knees dented bone. But they kept coming.
Too big. Too fast. Too pissed.
I needed an opening.
And then one overcommitted—claws high, aiming to pin me.
I stepped into the strike, grabbed its wrist mid-swing.
Locked it.
And twisted.
Its shoulder snapped with a sickening crack, and I drove my heel into its knee, dropping it.
With a shout, I pulled its body forward—then snapped its neck clean in my arms.
The other shrieked.
It lunged, jaws wide, teeth shining.
I didn't dodge.
I stepped forward.
And caught its jaws—one in each hand.
It thrashed. Roared. Blood soaked my arms.
I screamed and pulled.
Its skull split in two. Flesh tore. Bone cracked.
Its body dropped.
Silence.
The cavern echoed with my breathing.
My body was shaking. Not from weakness—from release.
I stood there, blood dripping from my arms. Both Vetrbjorn broken at my feet.
I had no sword. No armor. No backup.
And I had won.
"What… the Hel am I?"
The answer didn't come.
But the silence felt less empty.
I dragged one of the corpses back into the cave. My fingers worked without command—carving, cutting, stacking meat and bone. I skinned them both and wrapped myself in their pelts, then built a fire with shattered wood.
The warmth hit hard.
I didn't cry. But I came close.
As the meat cooked, I stared at my arms. At the runes. At the way they flickered like they were breathing with me. My blood felt heavier now. Denser. My bones didn't ache anymore.
I wasn't just healed.
I was rebuilt.
From the inside out.
I ate, and every bite tasted like fuel. Like I was feeding something bigger than hunger.
When I was done, I laid back on a bed of fur, staring at the roof of the cave.
Outside, the wind howled.
The peak was still waiting.
But so were the daggers.
And I wasn't leaving without them.