His eyes snapped open after yet another night of unrestful sleep. Nightmares and night terrors left him with very few days where he'd not have been forced to yank himself from his bed by sheer survival instinct. The ever-lasting cold broke ever so slightly with dawn, and it was by far the least painful time of day for him to be out and about, and so he parted the shades above the pile of blankets he called a bed. Light flooded into the room and reminded him of his reality: stuck in a frozen otherworldly plane alone, living off the remnants of a society long gone, barely keeping himself alive. The weather conditions - already unbearable at the time of his arrival years ago - had worsened and seemingly drove most of the remaining fauna away from his already short reach.
Not allowing his small frame to be uncovered from the already less welcoming heat of the blanket that protected during the night, he stumbled out of his nightly haven to ready himself for the journey ahead. Even years after beginning to call this large bunker home, he still struggled to interact with things not designed for people of his race, and therefore stature.
Adjustments and improvements had been made to make his life more comfortable, but reaching a reasonable height to operate the stove still required him to use a crate for a boost, and frequently small bits of magic - as little as he could spare - to bring distant objects to his grasp. Unblanketing his tiny body and grunting with annoyance as he did so, he began preparations to cook the rather small fish he'd caught the previous day. He lacked ingredients and spices to make anything taste even remotely appetizing, but it was enough to get by, or so he told himself daily.
It didn't take him long to get everything done, given that the heat-induction system he'd created to replace the gas-lit stove was more effective than it had any right being, especially being built by someone as starved of proper resources as he.
Knowing how precious these first few hours of the day were, he didn't bother to clean up after himself: "I'm already late." He reminded himself out loud, even knowing that wasn't true. To him, it was either that or spend all day indoors, and that just wouldn't do with the lack of proper nourishment stored away at his pantry.
He wrapped himself in further cloth, hiding from sight even his flowing locks of grey hair, which emanated only from the top of his head, sides and back shaved as to try to keep a somewhat refined appearance. Stopping himself at the threshold of the relative safety of his bunker, he grabbed his old, intricately designed staff - now acting more along the lines of a simple walking stick - from its usual spot beside the door. He tapped the top of it from whence the purple focus crystal protruded to the magically locked door.
With a loud banging noise it flung itself open, and he rushed outside, tapping the tail end of his staff to the ground, which prompted the door to close and lock itself behind him as he surveyed his surroundings.
The biting cold punished him immediately, already feeling the effects of exposure to the elements merely a step away from proper shelter. His nose burned due to how little protection the scarf that covered his face afforded him.
As he walked in today's selected direction, only a couple of degrees off from the previous day's course, he marched across the skeletal remains of impossibly large creatures that lay close to his home. He recited their names in reverence as he passed each one by: "Crux, Sammun-mak, Malak...". He honoured the life they'd given to sustain his, but even then it hung heavily on his heart.
A good six hours passed with no visible remnants of civilization in sight. It was hard to tell with all the snowfall, but he figured he might be standing over open waters. Unstrapping his backpack, he laid it down on the frozen ground and opened the largest compartment to bring out a heavy orange tarp, which he set aside for the time being.
Taking a few steps forward, he focused with eyes closed, panting as the effort of walking this insane distance had left him winded, and the crystal at the tip of his staff began to glow red. A simple cantrip in years prior, even this spell would take much effort out of his body.
He pointed the tip of his staff at the ground in front of him, and a powerful gust of wind flung the snow away and left a five-meter circle free from it, revealing a thick sheet of ice, underneath which a considerably large body of water rested. He pumped his fist in approval, and quickly went back to grab the orange tarp that rested on a pile of snow behind him.
He twisted a pipe-like structure that ran through the middle of the tarp and threw it in the direction of the small clearing he'd created with his magic. While in flight, the tarp assembled itself into a small tent. It landed perfectly on a spot of ice, the four edges of the canvas sticking themselves to the ground with automated spikes, becoming a perfectly stable shelter he could hide from the cutting wind in. Grabbing his backpack, he rushed inside and began unpacking his fishing supplies.
Opening the backpack by itself was a difficult task. After only a few minutes in the harsh cold, his fingers had started to ache down to his bones, going completely numb shortly after that. His compact fishing rod was ever-present in his backpack, along with a small box fitted with line and a fair bit of bait, harvested from pieces of animals he considered too small to be worth the sustenance.
He prepared his supplies, and when ready, proceeded to the cutting of the ice. Bringing a metallic stick out of his backpack, he pressed a button on its side, and it unfolded into an exquisite laser-cutting tool which he stuck into the ice. He pressed a button and the device spun by itself a few times around to cut a perfectly-sized hole for his fishing needs. Stowing the tool away, he struggled to levitate the circular patch of ice off to the side with a gesture and wasted no time in casting his line into the depths below. Thus began a game of patience he was never too willing to play, but having no choice in the matter, stuck around for anyway.
Several hours later was when he got his first sign of a catch. The line pulled gently at first, but after a few seconds, he was sure he'd hooked something alive. He reeled in as quickly as he could only to be unpleasantly surprised by the same breed of fish he'd eaten that very same morning, much to his dismay. It was food, without a doubt, but how much longer could he keep going with so little? He peeked outside after stowing the fish away in a small box for safekeeping and groaned loudly when he realized the sun was just about to meet the horizon. Packing up in a hurry, he made his way back to his bunker through considerable gales. The journey home was fraught with even more hardship as his already exhausted body and mind fought to stay conscious and active. The cold was unrelenting, and the journey was no shorter on the way back.
More than exhausted from the day's hunt, he shut himself into his bunker once more. A magical flick of the wrist turned every light on. The festive lights he'd hung all around the place made it seem more inviting, even though many of them were dimmed or completely gone. Trying not to give in to despair over the years was more of a task than he probably knew how to deal with, but the remnants of this long-lost civilization showed him there were still little moments of happiness to be had in this severe weather.
His stomach groaned, and he promptly ignored it, choosing instead to lay down on a bean couch designed for one person that sat in front of a massive computer terminal. He pressed a switch on it, and all the screens turned on. They glowed with familiar lights, each of them holding a wallpaper of some beautiful alien landscape. As far as he knew these had been all real places on the planet where he now stood, but it seemed like a distant reality in contrast.
He logged in to the account of one "Doctor Haken". Her avatar picture displayed at the login screen, a face that now seemed like that of a friend. He owed much of his survival to her late findings.
Placing his hand above a transparent screened terminal that laid beside him, he navigated the computer's interface. He activated a piece of software that had been his only companion in these many years alone. An AI - a sentient presence such as he, but bound to the confines of one small box, yet containing near-infinite knowledge - woke from its slumber and greeted him with it's constructed form from one of the monitors. "Someone's home late." A high-pitched voice sounded from the speakers.
The form on-screen was similar to his, constructed by the AI itself to resemble a female counterpart of his race. "I got unlucky." He replied with a sad expression on his face on top of his monotone voice.
The female walked from one screen to another, a concerned look on her face. "Do you have enough for tomorrow?" She asked reluctantly. He nodded. After a few seconds, she shook her head slightly sideways and chimed in again: "Good enough. I picked up a weird reading today, a couple more hours into a path you're already familiar with. You up for it, bud?"
He brought his hands up to his face at her question, rubbing his tired eyes. "Do I have a choice?" He asked, dreading spending even another minute outside, much less an additional four hours. He was unnaturally durable due to this magical prowess, but that had its limits, and he knew he was nearing his.
She sulked in a corner, seemingly sad at being so unable to help her only companion. He hugged his own body, seeking to heat himself further, and exclaimed: "I'm sorry, Clara. I don't mean to upset you. I'm just running on fumes, here, is all."
The AI's form approached the virtual camera that connected her world to his and stared him in the face as best as she could. "I'm only here to help you. I don't exactly have a purpose other than that. Maybe if I had a body I could do something about it all, but we've already talked about that in such great lengths, haven't we?".
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He nodded in response, his eyes welling up. An awkward silence ensued. After a few moments, he lifted himself from the couch and did things around the bunker. Cleaned up after himself, hydrated and moved all his best blankets from the corner to the bean couch.
"Sleeping with me today?" She asked as she observed his movements.
"I'm not feeling too hot. Is that okay?" He replied, and she nodded with a gentle smile.
After doing a bit of rather painful personal hygiene-- given the temperature, which even inside the bunker was rather low-- he proceeded to his bean couch. He wrapped himself in as many layers as he could.
Clara sat in a corner monitor, playing the piano to spectacular effect. Seeing her perform such a mundane yet beautiful task made him feel far more ordinary, and she knew this. They mostly kept silent, and the monitors were turned off save for the one from which Clara played her piano.
Sleep came and went away just as quickly. Even though he'd slept a very reasonable amount of hours, he felt as if he'd gotten maybe half an hour of rest. All the monitors were shut off and another cold day awaited.
His morning routine was just the same as it had been the previous day, and he set off in search of the enigmatic reading that Clara had mentioned the night prior. She showed him a map of the approximated location and his sense of direction had yet to fail him, so he led on into the snow; his numb feet still somehow leading the way.
Several kilometres later he'd already passed through several structures that served as landmarks in the past, all crumbling to dust and ravaged by the elements. He'd drawn magical runes at a few that glowed intensely as he approached, attuned to his aura and mana. Through all that distance, he'd yet to encounter a single living being. What could ever survive in such conditions? Only a creature as stubborn as he. Evidence to the contrary had been present, but in such an unimaginably vast and inhospitable environment, the odds of an encounter seemed slim.
Within a few hours, he'd reached a location previously undiscovered by him, a small settlement preserved as if by a tomb of frost. ‘Had this always been here?’ He wondered to himself as a spark of hope set alight in his chest, and a tired smile hidden behind layers of cloth was followed by a chuckle.
He began his initial scavenging of the surroundings with what seemed to be a technologically advanced storage unit. He'd learned how to deal with those from experience and was able to bypass it's complicated, although non-functioning security systems without much trouble. The tech relied on a power source which had likely died out decades ago at that point, and a flick of the wrist unleashed an unseen hand that pushed the rather heavy lock into an opened position. Another gesture of his hand cracked the door open, ice breaking at the seams and emitting a loud popping noise.
He stepped inside the dark metallic container confidently, the crystalline tip of his staff conjuring several wisps of light that ventured the space in front of him, making all its contents visible.
The heavy stench of stale air and decades of decay were made apparent when he pulled the scarf that protected most of his face aside to get a better look. He let out a retching noise, never being able to get quite used to these situations no matter how many years have passed, or how many times he'd witnessed them.
The container was a shelter turned into a crypt - since it was well-isolated from the cold, a couple had turned this storage space into a somewhat comfortable living space. They were hurdled side by side on a corner which they made into a makeshift bed. If they had died from the cold, disease, hunger or otherwise he couldn't tell; all he knew was that they'd likely passed on peacefully together.
They were much larger than him-- about twice his size in height-- much like every other humanoid skeleton he'd encountered in his eight years stuck on this frozen rock. He’d come to assume that these were once the caretakers of this land, but either the climate had changed beyond their capabilities of survival or these two simply were unprepared for this environment was a question he often pondered during the lonely nights.
Pointing his staff at their remains, he levitated the topmost piece of cloth hanging over them to blanket their bodies entirely. With his other hand clenched into a fist, he beat the left side of his chest and held that pose for a few seconds in honour.
Assessing that nothing of use could be taken from this couple's final resting place without disturbing their memory, he resigned himself to leave. On his way out he sealed the container shut, looking around at the remaining structures, and coming to the swift and obvious conclusion that everything that could have been scavenged from this area was probably already gone. He let out a sigh, realizing that hunting was perhaps his best chance at finding any amount of food before the day's end.
Covering his face once again, he tapped the metal edge of his staff to the ground twice with much hesitation.
His right eye, usually an emerald green in colour turned to a purple hue in an instant as he focused carefully practised and developed magic into his most advanced scouting tactic. Small white runes formed on his iris as he focused further, and the secrets of the land were laid bare before him.
Casting a spell thus took a toll on his already frail and malnourished body, but it was his only recourse at the current junction. Holding his staff with both hands, he lifted himself off the ground with further use of his magic power to attain high ground atop one of the buildings that surrounded him.
Turning his body all around to peer kilometres in every direction, he desperately searched for any sign of life, already feeling his astral body recoil from the limitations this plane inflicted on his usage of magic.
His eye ached as he finally saw a glimmer of hope: a red, burning blip across the distance-- not a life form as he so eagerly hoped for-- but a leyline. A place of magic focus, one that might even allow him to regain much of his lost power, and god forbid his hopeful thought, provide him with a way home.
The very crimson colour that emanated from those leylines were enough to send a powerful chill down his spine, making every hair on his body stand at attention with excitement and anticipation. The theories he'd come up with in his deliberations with Clara had come to fruition, and he'd been afforded one opportunity to escape. "Clever girl. You led me to the right place, after all."
He rubbed his violet eye with the back of his hand and the spell dissipated. Without hesitation, he hopped off the roof, his fall cushioned by a pile of snow that accumulated off the edge. Overeager or not, he couldn't afford to let the energy being gathered at the leylines dissipate or travel elsewhere. He ran as fast as he could, lungs burning with the cold, his body begging for rest as the exhaustion of months of improper feeding had finally caught up to him. Still, he wouldn't stop.
His hands and feet were so numb it was a wonder they still worked at all. The cold seeped into his body, and his pace lessened with every footstep he took in the right direction. This planet would fight him for every meter he'd try to walk away from it as if it refused to let even one living being escape its grasp. All that had entered its malicious maws would be consumed for all they were worth. Those were the laws of this world… making his survival more imminent and unlikely.
As his short legs carried him across the frozen wastes, he fully began to realize that he was nearing his escape. Every beat of his heart was a beat of hope. Although, that hope would quickly turn to desperation as his legs buckled beneath him from lack of proper energy and the bitter cold. Try as he might to stand, it was as if he were his legs were no longer his own and he was forced to pull himself ever onward with his arms.
He dug his digits into the snow, unable to feel himself moving with how numb his body felt due to the unrelenting cold. But he could feel it, and every meter he'd strived forward he could feel his astral body strengthening ever so slightly.
When his arms could no longer carry him through several layers of snow, he let out a scream.
Crippled by the cold, unable to press on at his most desperate hour, he pushed himself to use the last of his magic to ferry him across the wastes to the edge of the monument.
He was very nearly there, only meters away from what would be the threshold of his salvation when even his magic could carry him no longer, and he fell to the snow in one crashing motion. Face-up to the grey skies above, he screamed and cried in agony, unable to feel his body. His rage could be heard even through the whistling of the frozen gales. "I am so close... Why? Gods, why?" He screamed to the high heavens as his tears froze upon his already frost-covered face.
He tilted his head slightly upwards to look at the monument, encompassed by the vigorous field of magic radiating from the leylines. "No... Just a little more... Please." He whispered, both of his green eyes turning purple as he focused his lifeblood into magic.
“Come on, you half-assed nepenthe.” The man’s entire body began to wither as he pushed himself forward inch by inch, screaming in pain as if his own astral body was slowly dragging him across the snow. He was all but spent, but as soon as he touched one of the outermost boulders, which were organized circularly and seemed far more ancient than even the catastrophe that ravaged this world, a jolt of magical power surged through him. His pale complexion gained the slightest bit of colour.
Suddenly a violet aura surrounded his body like a blanket being wrapped around him by a life-long partner. It caressed him and gently lifted him into the air; never again to touch the dreaded frozen ground. With an overjoyed burst of laughter, he pushed onward to the centre of the massive concentration of mana-- the leylines granting him both succor and power that he hadn't felt in many moons. It gave his previously frail body a measure of strength and stamina that he hadn't possessed in many long years, rejuvenating both his mind and body like giving water to a man left in the desert-- or in his case, the ability to leave a frozen wasteland.
As he approached the centre of the monument, he slowly began to unwrap himself from the layers of cloth and leather that protected him. No longer would he need protection from the elements - his magic keeping his body warm and nourished.
A long, stylish overcoat with runic embroidering on the back and coated with furs from the waist down was all that protected him from the elements further, as his light shirt and leather pants weren't in themselves all that insulating.
Tears streamed down his face, and he laughed, delighted at this particular turn of events. "By the light of the Prime and blood of the Queen Wolf, by the will of the Outcast and wisdom of the White Stag, the righteous return to their nests!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, lightning crackling around him, a large rune slowly imprinting itself on the ground underneath him. That very rune cracked open the ground, but underneath there was no earth. No dirt. Only pitch-black darkness, from which tendrils spawned forth and wrapped themselves around the man's body.
He held fast to his staff with both hands as the grip of the void did to him. He turned his face toward where his bunker would be hours away and far from sight. A single thought ran through his mind in that instant, and for a moment, his eyes began flowing with even more tears, regret at his recklessness causing him to hesitate. It was far too late, however, and he committed to his current course. "I'll come back for you. Even if you're not real."
A maniacal smile took over his expression as he was dragged into the darkness in silence. The blackness disappeared just as swiftly as it came around, the only trace of this ever happening, an impossible small violet flower that bloomed where he'd sunk.